WHEN she singeth through the silence, Springeth music as of birds— And the birds have no songs sweeter Than the music of her words. If she sings where no birds be, Still the silent place rejoices, Bird-forsaken, for her voice is What a rose's voice might be. When she smileth you go thinking Of the Spring in Winter days. Crocus-cups and pale primroses— Sunshine through a leafy maze; Snow-drops where the snow-drifts be— Spring in all midwinter places You go finding—for her face is What a new Spring's face might be. When you know her you must love her, Certes, love her like a star; She is lifted far above you— Very fair and very far. She will smile for you and me, But not love. Her soul apart is With the flowers; and her heart is What a white star's heart might be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH SNIPS PROUD MEN by CARL SANDBURG THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR [MARCH 9, 1862] by GEORGE M. BAKER EXCELSIOR by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TALL NETTLES by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS LILIES: 21. ART NEEDS THEE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |