BELOW, cool grasses: over us The maples waver tremulous. A slender overture above, Low breathing as a sigh of love At first, then gradually strong And stronger: 'tis the locust's song, Swoln midway to a paean of glee, And lost in silence dwindlingly. Not utter silence; nay, for hid In ghosts of it, the katydid Chirrs a diluted echo of The loveless song he makes us love. The low boughs are drugged heavily With shade; the poem you read to me Is not more gracious than the trill Of birds that twitter as they will. Half consciously, with upturned eyes, I hear your voice -- I see the skies, Where, o'er bright rifts, the swallows glance Like glad thoughts o'er a countenance; And voices near and far are blent Like sweet chords of some instrument Awakened by the trembling touch Of hands that love it overmuch. Dear heart, let be the book a while! I want your face -- I want your smile! Tell me how gladder now are they Who look on us from Heaven to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TRUE UNTIL DEATH by ROBERT BURNS CARILLON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JULY by EDMUND SPENSER THE FLYING WORDS by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 29 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |