A SILENT, winding stream, that wanders slow Through tall marsh grasses, whispering in the night, Far down within its shadow depths; the light Of many twinkling stars, that faintly glow, While over them come, drifting aimlessly The pale, light wreaths of mist, the night breeze brings. Like gentle ghosts of timid woodland things From out the forest's shrouded mystery. Low in the sky, hangs the dim crescent moon. But hark! Across the marsh, a wavering note! Unutterably lonely, wild, remote, The melancholy night call of the loon! A quavering voice, it rises from the dark, A wild complaint, a cry primordial, rare, The very soul of heartbreak and despair Since the dim days that did creation mark. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN PROGRESS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MEMORY'S DOOR by MARY OTTO ASHER THWARTED UTTERANCE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET NOT YE WHO GOAD by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON CAN YOU HEAR IT? by THERESA DRULEY BLACK TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND WHO DIED ON SABBATH MORNING by ELIZABETH BOGART |