In everything that moves there is a stillness.
The wind that sweeps the trees and sways their supple trunks
Swells the heart to a vast and open clearing
Where birdcalls linger on into the silence
In everything that rises, everything that falls
In moonlight on a rising or a falling sea
In laughter rising in the heart of sadness

In everything that speaks there is a silence.
The thunder through the hills all rumbling rolling
Speaks of the white and sudden stroke of lightning
That makes the mind stand still in grave rejoicing
In everything that sounds, everything that calls
As a wolf calls down the silence with his howling

In everything that lives there is a death.
The life that wanders and delights in wandering
Desires still an end: we strain our hearing
To catch in every echo rising falling
In every fit of laughter or of weeping
The half-forgotten voice of solemn calling
The rising to a life more deep than dying.