Half-hidden in a graveyard, In the blackness of a yew, Where never living creature stirs, Nor sunbeam pierces through, Is a tomb-stone, green and crooked -- Its faded legend gone -- With one rain-worn cherub's head To sing of the unknown. There, when the dusk is falling, Silence broods so deep It seems that every air that breathes Sighs from the fields of sleep. Day breaks in heedless beauty, Kindling each drop of dew, But unforsaking shadow dwells Beneath this lonely yew. And, all else lost and faded, Only this listening head Keeps with a strange unanswering smile Its secret with the dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EPIGRAM: 27. THE FRUIT by THOMAS WYATT TO WALTER LIONEL DE ROTHSCHILD ON HIS BAR-MITZVAH by LOUIS BARNETT ABRAHAMS SALOME by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |