The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer
Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,
Wanted to lean, wanted much to
The scholar to whom his book is true, to
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.
The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.
And the world was calm.
The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning,
Is calm, itself is summer and night,
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.
