[From: "The Last Journal of Gwyllyn"]
When the voice of the world, with its empty muttering,
grows mute; when in the sunlight I begin shuddering
from a curious fever; when all the things that I love
compel me to be quiet and stare absently above;
not at clouds, or the sun, or the wide void of blue,
but at nothing, yet somehow at everything too;
not thinking one thought, not speaking one word,
with just the silence behind all things being heard;
where peace unassailable, and joy clear and bright,
with love shine forever in a hidden holy light.
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