Calm is the morn without a sound,
         Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
         And only thro' the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
         And on these dews that drench the furze.
         And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain
        That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
        And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
        These leaves that redden to the fall;
        And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
        And waves that sway themselves in rest,
        And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.