After losing someone, the speaker hears the world as fragile and fleeting. People passing in the street, a theatre’s heavy sigh, wind riffling light over dark water—these sounds flutter for a moment, then sink into a vast, soundless flood. The speaker feels haunted by that silence. It is not peaceful or empty; it is patient and complete, waiting to take back every human noise, from the patter of footsteps to the loudest sigh. Grief has made ordinary life feel small, distant, and a little unreal. Even night’s last echo makes daybreak shiver, as if dawn itself fears the quiet. There is no escape from it; every sound is only a brief interruption. The mood is hollow, eerie, and almost suffocating—full of loneliness and the feeling that the absent person has left behind a silence too large for anything to fill.
Silence — Summary
Since I lost you I am silence-haunted, Sounds wave their little wings A moment, then in weariness settle On the flood that soundless swings.
Whether the people in the street Like pattering ripples go by, Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs With a loud, hoarse sigh:
Or the wind shakes a ravel of light Over the dead-black river, Or night's last echoing Makes the daybreak shiver:
I feel the silence waiting To take them all up again In its vast completeness, enfolding The sound of men.