Hill-tops are forms of silence, And sunlight is like skin, And every pine along the cliffs Hushes what I have been, And what I have known. And the quiet Draws me to tingle and throb; And a three-stemmed dogwood in blossom Breaks from me like a sob. There is nothing, and then still nothing (Excepting everything) And I vanish in many white sepals And the blue curve of a wing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER APPLE PICKING by ROBERT FROST SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER MY FRIEND by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: TARAFA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NIGHT by MARY FRANCES MARSHALL BUTTS |