I do not care to talk to you although
Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies,
And all my being's silent harmonies
Wake trembling into music. When you go
It is as if some sudden, dreadful blow
Had severed all the strings with savage ease.
No, do not talk; but let us rather seize
This intimate gift of silence which we know.
Others may guess your thoughts from what you say,
As storms are guessed from clouds where darkness broods.
To me the very essence of the day
Reveals its inner purpose and its moods;
As poplars feel the rain and then straightway
Reverse their leaves and shimmer through the woods.
(photo courtesy of Ted Kaiser) Share
2 comments:
When I was about 12 years old I stumbled onto a poem by Amy Lowell, of the prestigious Lowell family of Massachusetts. She was a favorite of mine because I found the the English poets, Byron Keats and Shelly's poems to be too rhetorically ornate. My favorite is, "Fringed Gentians". It is said she smoked cigars and was a Lesbian, but "Fringed Gentians" could only be written by a woman who loved a man.
I think I remember hearing that,too, but I never believed it.
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