I took away three pictures. One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan. One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or the dusk come. One was three spotted waterbirds, zigzagging, cutting scrolls and jags, writing a bird Sanscrit of wing points, half over the sand, half over the water, a half-love for the sea, a half-love for the land. I took away three thoughts. One was a thing my people call "love," a shut-in river hunting the sea, breaking white falls between tall clefs of hill country. One was a thing my people call "silence," the wind running over the butter faced sand-flowers, running over the sea, and never heard of again. One was a thing my people call "death," neither a whistle in the little sandhills, nor a bird Sanscrit of wing points, yet a coat all the stars and seas have worn, yet a face the beach wears between sunset and dusk. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH by SIDNEY LANIER BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL ELEGY: THE LITTLE GHOST WHO DIED FOR LOVE; FOR ALLANAH HARPER by EDITH SITWELL GETTING A PURCHASE by KAREN SWENSON TREKKING THE HILLS OF NORTHERN THAILAND by KAREN SWENSON |