Tranquil and cloistral, fragrant of my mind, This cool room says,--just such a room have you, It waits you always at the tops of stairways, Withdrawn, remote, familiar to your uses, Where you may cease pretence and be yourself. . . . And this embroidery, hanging on this wall, Hung there forever,--these so soundless glidings Of dragons golden-scaled, sheer birds of azure, Coilings of leaves in pale vermilion, griffins Drawing their rainbow wings through involutions Of mauve chrysanthemums and lotus flowers,-- This goblin wood where someone cries enchantment,-- This says, just such an involuted beauty Of thought and coiling thought, dream linked with dream, Image to image gliding, wreathing fires, Soundlessly cries enchantment in your mind: You need but sit and close your eyes a moment To see these deep designs unfold themselves. And so, all things discern me, name me, praise me-- I walk in a world of silent voices, praising; And in this world you see me like a wraith Blown softly here and there, on silent winds. 'Praise me'--I say; and look, not in a glass, But in your eyes, to see my image there-- Or in your mind; you smile, I am contented; You look at me, with interest unfeigned, And listen--I am pleased; or else, alone, I watch thin bubbles veering brightly upward From unknown depths,--my silver thoughts ascending; Saying now this, now that, hinting of all things,-- Dreams, and desires, velleities, regrets, Faint ghosts of memory, strange recognitions,-- But all with one deep meaning: this is I, This is the glistening secret holy I, This silver-winged wonder, insubstantial, This singing ghost. . . . And hearing, I am warmed. * * * * *