Canto XI
Calm is the morn without a sound,Calm as to suit a calmer grief,And only thro’ the faded leafThe chesnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,And on these dews that drench the furze,And all the silvery gossamersThat twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plainThat 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 breastWhich heaves but with the heaving deep.