For All The Grief I Have Given With Words May Now A Few Clear Flowers Blow, In The Dust, And The Heat, And The Silence Of Birds, Where The Lonely Go. For The Thing Unsaid That Heart Asked Of Me Be A Dark, Cool Water Calling - Calling To The Footsore, Benighted, Solitary, When The Shadows Are Falling. O, Be Beauty For All My Blindness, A Moon In The Air Where The Weary Wend, And Dews Burdened With Loving-Kindness In The Dark Of The End.