IT is a whisper among the hazel bushes; It is a long, low, whispering voice that fills With a sad music the bending and swaying rushes; It is a heart beat deep in the quiet hills. Twilight people, why will you still be crying, Crying and calling to me out of the trees? For under the quiet grass the wise are lying, And all the strong ones are gone over the seas. And I am old, and in my heart at your calling Only the old dead dreams a-fluttering go; As the wind, the forest wind, in its falling Sets the withered leaves fluttering to and fro. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLACES: 4. EVENING (NAHANT) by SARA TEASDALE MIDNIGHT-BY THE OPEN WINDOW by LOUIS UNTERMEYER DAY: MORNING by JOHN CUNNINGHAM THE SUBALTERNS by THOMAS HARDY NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE by ROSSITER JOHNSON INTROSPECTIVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FOR A CHILD: 1. WALKING SONG by CHARLES WILLIAMS HELLENS RAPE; OR A LIGHT LANTHORNE FOR LIGHT LADIES by RICHARD BARNFIELD |