![Transcription Center logo](/themes/custom/tc_theme/assets/image/logo.png)
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
On a Height Here, where the sun is fire, and the silence A wind that bears our trivial words Away into nothingness, We scan a sail-less sea. Not even drams come in From that white radiance in the west, But one thought, born of weariness, Seems blazoned on the sky: That rest from light is darkness And rest from life is death.