WHO are these ancients, gnarl'd and moss'd and weigh'd This way and that, under the sluggard blue And shine of morning -- these whose arms are laid Low to the grasses and the sheets of dew -- These bowers rugged within and thickly knit, But feather'd over with a roseate white So frail that the breeze's touch dismantles it And brings from cradled nurseries in flight -- Snow-soft -- the petals down In shadows green to drown? We are the matrons. Bent are we and riven Under such years of ripeness manifold That unto us a special grace is given, -- To wear a virgin's beauty being old. Noiseless we wear it; round us in the croft These whisperers are leaves of other trees, Babblers that have not learn'd by fruitage oft To shade the heart with wide serenities On tendons knit to bear Sweetness in stormy air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HATRED by GWENDOLYN B. BENNETT SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ANNE RUTLEDGE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS RETURNED FROM THE WAR by HENRY ABBEY FRAGMENTS OF A POEM ON THE EXCELLENCE OF CHRISTIANITY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE ENTERTAINMENT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |