Of One Who Is Deaf

As one apart in mellow shade,
With smiling Sadness she doth dwell ;
No sounds or harsh or sweet invade
Her ear’s unvibrant shell.
Yet she, on lips that Love hath taught,
Can read the pantomimic word ;
With sphery search that fathoms thought,
It seems her eyes have heard!
So do the stars, to lonely men
Who cross some vast and open wild,
Deepen with all-discerning ken,
Unswerving, just, yet mild.
Although to them arrives no sound
Of all that fills our lower night,
They probe the human heart’s profound
With silent shafts of light.
Oh, who beneath night’s searching skies
But feels his inmost being known,
Or who that meets her star-pure eyes
But his unworth must own ?
Edith M. Thomas.