There is a sound the aspens make Intangible as early dawn. It moves like something night has known And left: a quiver in the wake Of deep vibrations, long since gone To add their voices to the tone And rhythm of the universe. With leaves too pale, too prone to shake, Too loosely hung for permanence, The shining, fragile trees converse, Responsive to the constant drone Of winds that carry pine-incense To blend with salty spray and fire: And, when their golden horde is prone Upon the ground, in silver-gray They murmur like a ghostly choir The summer sun has left alone To chant what litanies they may: The sound of aspens! Through the dense Uncertainty there comes desire To rise above the crumbling stone Of earth -- to learn again to pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON IRON HEEL by ANNE MILLAY BREMER BROADWAY by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY (2) by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |