What dost thou bring to me, O fair To-day, That comest o'er the mountains with swift feet? - Julia C. R. Dorr

O golden Silence, bid our souls be still,
And on the foolish fretting of our care
Lay thy soft touch of healing unaware!

Aspirations pure and high —
Strength to do and to endure —
Heir of all the Ages, I —
Lo! I am no longer poor!

Come, blessed Darkness, come and bring thy balm
For eyes grown weary of the garish day!
Come with thy soft, slow steps, thy garments gray,
Thy veiling shadows, bearing in thy palm
The poppy-seeds of slumber, deep and calm.