It was the fairy of the place, Moving within a little light, Who touched with dim and shadowy grace The conflict at its fever height. It seemed to whisper 'Quietness,' Then quietly itself was gone: Yet echoes of its mute caress Were with me as the years went on. (George William Russell)

It was the fairy of the place, Moving within a little light, Who touched with dim and shadowy grace The conflict at its fever height. It seemed to whisper 'Quietness,' Then quietly itself was gone: Yet echoes of its mute caress Were with me as the years went on.

George William Russell

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