I know now what the watcher sees

In woods beyond the distant trees.

The farthest seemed to stand in file.

From anywhere I looked, an aisle

Opened upon this patch of sun,

This clearing axes must have made.

I may not have been the only one

Ever to come from cool and shade

To light and warmth, and lie down here.

Now the others are not near.

But I can hear the sound they heard

Of silence saying a silent word.

What tumbled down the fallen stone?

Why is the wheelrut tall with weed?

Nothing is known. Nothing is known.

Except that by the signs I read

I think a man once let in light,

Fought the dark, and lost the fight,

Hearing that silence fought him, too.

The trees are asking, "What will you do?"

The trees are saying, "Another man

To finish the work the first began.

Crowd him out. Drive him away.

Make him a man afraid to stay."

But now the only thing I know

Is that I am a man afraid to go.

For the sake of a stone upon a stone,

And a man who set them there alone,

I cannot lose his place of light

To the dark of trees or the dark of night.