Between the midnight and the morn,

To share my watches late and lonely,

There dawns a presence such as only

Of perfect silence can be born.

On the blank parchment falls the glow

Of more than daybreak: and one regal

Thought, like the shadow of an eagle,

Grazes the smoothness of its snow.

Though veiled to me that face of faces

And still that form eludes my art,

Yet all the gifts my faith has brought

Along the secret stair of thought

Have come to me on those hushed paces

Whose footfall is my beating heart.