Silence, come first: I see a sleeping swan,
Wings closed and drifting where the water leads,
A winter moon, a calm where wisdom dreams,
A hand outstretched to gather hollow reeds.

The four winds in their litanies can tell
All of earth's stories as they weep and cry
The sea names all the treasures of her tides,
And birds rejoice between the earth and sky:

Voices of grief and from the heart of joy,
So near to comprehension do we stand
That wind and sea and all of winged delight
Lie in the octaves of man's voice and hand

And music wakes from silence as from sleep.