When I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
    Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
    That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
    Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Silence is listening
                   For the music;
Knowing when to be still
                   To hear one's self.

When the body stands silent,
                    Everything moves;
Silences are the noises,
                   The echo of everything.

Without being heard
               The silence becomes visible,
The footsteps of the light
               Can be heard in the meditation.

The silence walks with you
              As the world makes you silent,
The idea is to hear the music
              That is in the quietude of your peace.