The silver day came, underspoken
Hushed tire on slick paved sheen
Where I had been, since I had awoken
Under cloud, in melodies of green
Suggestions of Springs yet to come
Or sounds hushed tires make as they run
The breath of rain sighs in the gleam
A silver day without any sun;

The sky was not gray; but hinted
That on another day, some era afar
Gray it would be, instead glinted
With the countless drops on every car
As if quiet hope was not merely a token
And still-silent something new had awoken
A conception; scion of an unseen star–
The silver day came, underspoken.