A silver flute-call! Night
Dons copper lace.
A white gull curves in flight
With slow, smooth grace
Through silences of space.
Tiptoeing light as a fawn,
A breeze ballets.
In a mirror-pool, a swan . . .
And a white birch sways.
Hush! Stillness speaks his praise.*
In the peace of quietude,
Calm, beautiful,
From the mountain top, cool-dewed,
Comes the miracle:
Pale gold illumes the gull.
* This version from the Relief Society Magazine. In the version published in Path to Home, the line reads "Still ... hushed ... the canyon prays."
