A silence slipping around like death, Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh, a breath; One group of trees, lean, naked and cold, Inking their crests 'gainst a sky green-gold; One path that knows where the corn flowers were; Lonely, apart, unyielding, one fir; And over it softly leaning down, One star that I loved ere the fields went brown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TAPS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE PEACOCK OF FRANCE by MARIANNE MOORE THE LITTLE BEACH BIRD by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879) BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE |