I had wanted a quiet testament
And I had wanted, among other things,
That was to be
Of a like monotony.
Simply. Very very quiet.
A murmur of some lost
Thrush, though I have never seen one.
Which was you then. Sitting
And so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet.
And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross
(which is not reluctant, or if it is,
It is no longer important.
Which one sings, if he sings it,