THE SOUND OF ASPENS by PEARLE R. CASEY

There is a sound the aspens make
Intangible as early dawn.
It moves like something night has known
And left: a quiver in the wake
Of deep vibrations, long since gone
To add their voices to the tone
And rhythm of the universe.
With leaves too pale, too prone to shake,
Too loosely hung for permanence,
The shining, fragile trees converse,
Responsive to the constant drone
Of winds that carry pine-incense
To blend with salty spray and fire:
And, when their golden horde is prone
Upon the ground, in silver-gray
They murmur like a ghostly choir
The summer sun has left alone
To chant what litanies they may:
The sound of aspens! Through the dense
Uncertainty there comes desire
To rise above the crumbling stone
Of earth -- to learn again to pray.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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