Like a clamorous flock of startled birds, All my memories swoop upon me, Swoop among the yellow foliage Of my heart, watching its bent alder-trunk In the purple foil of the waters of Regret That flow nearby in melancholy wise; They swoop, and then the horrid clamor, That a moist breeze calms as it rises, Dies gradually in the tree -- until At the end of a moment nothing more is heard, Nothing but the voice hymning the Absent One, Nothing but the voice -- the languishing voice -- Of the bird that was my Earliest Love, Singing still as on that earliest day; And in the sad magnificence of a moon That rises with pale solemnity, a Summer night, heavy and melancholy, Full of silence and obscurity, Lulls in the sky that a soft wind caresses The quivering tree and the weeping bird. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABOVE HALF MOON by JAMES GALVIN ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR I PAY MY DEBT FOR LAFAYETTE AND ROCHAMBEAU' by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CITIES OF THE PLAIN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO A SCREEN-MAKER by MARIANNE MOORE |