"This is the shape of the leaf, and this of the flower,
And this the pale bole of the tree
Which watches its bough in a pool of unwavering water
In a land we shall never see.
The thrush on the bough is silent, the dew falls softly,
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In the evening is hardly a sound.
And the three beautiful pilgrims who come here together
Touch lightly the dust of the ground--
Touch it with feet that trouble the dust but as wings do,
Come shyly together, are still,
Like dancers who wait, in a pause of the music, for music
The exquisite silence to fill
This is the thought of the first, and this of the second,
And this the grave thought of the third:
'Linger we thus for a moment, palely expectant,
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DRAMATIC CLUB STARTS SPRING WORK TONIGHT
