A WEALTH of silence, that is all. The air Lacks life and holds no hint of tender spring, Of flowers wholesome-blowing, birds a-wing, Of any creature much alive and fair. Perchance you guess a murmur here and there Among the tomes, each book a gossip thing, And each in his own tongue -- yet slumbering Seems more the bookish fashion everywhere. But ah, could but the souls take flesh again That wrought these words, their hearts all passion-swirled, What companies would flock and fill the stage, Resuming now their old imperious reign! Knight, noble, lady, priest, the saint and sage, The valor, bloom, and wisdom of a world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LETTER; EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SAW YE JOHNNIE COMIN'? by JOANNA BAILLIE THE FLOWERY ALCHEMIST by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES NIGHTFALL by FLORENCE ASHLEY BELLER THE END by BYRON HAVERLY BLACKFORD THE BANJO FIEND by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER THE WATCHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |