If sight were sound,
O the blazon of the gorse bush
Calling from the granite where the heavy air is scented,
Challenging the Summer with its golden clarion;
And how can Summer answer, the Summer silken tented,
Drowsed by Paynim perfumes in its blue pavilion?

If sight were sound, you could hear the blossoms tinkle
Tinkle on the tree tops popping into sight;
And, on the ground, you could hear the periwinkle
Ringing all its faery bells along the leafy light.

If sight were sound,
O the stillness of well-water
Waiting for the blessing of the crozier-holding fern!
The crystal, cold limpidity
Like silence in Eternity,
Like silence when the strings are hushed before the notes return.

If sight were sound,
O the northern Aurora,
Thrilling in the zenith like the song of all the stars!
Ah, could we hear, that song were unsustainable;
Sight is better soundless while the weighted spirit hears.

But sight and sound are mingled in the water's
Lovely lymph that wavers as it sings and rolls along
To form a pool wherein
Reflected lean the willows
Bending heads to listen to the sky's stilled song.