IT is a whisper among the hazel bushes; It is a long, low, whispering voice that fills With a sad music the bending and swaying rushes; It is a heart beat deep in the quiet hills. Twilight people, why will you still be crying, Crying and calling to me out of the trees? For under the quiet grass the wise are lying, And all the strong ones are gone over the seas. And I am old, and in my heart at your calling Only the old dead dreams a-fluttering go; As the wind, the forest wind, in its falling Sets the withered leaves fluttering to and fro. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHIP OF RIO by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE TRAVEL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER TRANSITION by MIRIAM BARRANGER WITH ETERNITY STANDING BY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE CHRISTENING by AMY SHERMAN BRIDGMAN ON ANNEL-SEED ROBIN, THE HERMOPHRODITE; EPITAPH by CHARLES COTTON |