BELOW, cool grasses: over us The maples waver tremulous. A slender overture above, Low breathing as a sigh of love At first, then gradually strong And stronger: 'tis the locust's song, Swoln midway to a paean of glee, And lost in silence dwindlingly. Not utter silence; nay, for hid In ghosts of it, the katydid Chirrs a diluted echo of The loveless song he makes us love. The low boughs are drugged heavily With shade; the poem you read to me Is not more gracious than the trill Of birds that twitter as they will. Half consciously, with upturned eyes, I hear your voice -- I see the skies, Where, o'er bright rifts, the swallows glance Like glad thoughts o'er a countenance; And voices near and far are blent Like sweet chords of some instrument Awakened by the trembling touch Of hands that love it overmuch. Dear heart, let be the book a while! I want your face -- I want your smile! Tell me how gladder now are they Who look on us from Heaven to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN ROMNEY MARSH by JOHN DAVIDSON THE STIRRUP-CUP by SIDNEY LANIER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SETH COMPTON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 7 by ALFRED TENNYSON |