Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LOST ORCHARD, by EDGAR LEE MASTERS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Loves and sorrows of those who lose an orchard Subject(s): Orchards | ||||||||
Loves and sorrows of those who lose an orchard Are less seen than the shadow shells Of butterflies whose wings are tortured In the perilous escape of rainy dells, In the ecstatic flight of blinding Junes. Save for the breath dirge of the wind-rung harebells They have no words that ever shall be known, Neither have they speech or tone, Save the tones when the sun with gold galloons Trims the blue edges of the air; And save the quiet which quells The music of the water drop in the well's Water far down, where vision swoons. These are the voices and these alone Of the lost orchard, and its vague despair. Branches may gnarl with scale and lift their bare Paralysis, or the withered crone Of loneliness breed water sprouts; or frost Heap the dull turf over the strawberry vines; Or rust unhinge the gates; or the fallen pear Waste like the Cretan gold of ruined shrines In tangled grasses; or the broken share Be sunk in leaf mould - these are noonday signs Of the deserted, but not of the orchard that is lost. Silver secrets speak of the lost orchard, as the shells Of butterflies escaped whisper the vanished wings; Or as light shaken from the field of clover tells Of the zephyr's irised wanderings. A lost orchard is the memory of a friend Wronged by life to death, who lies Lifelike, but with unseeing eyes. It is music made a ghost, because the end Of life has come which made the music mean Eyes that look and lips that thrill. Music is no breast where wounded souls may lean, If played when hands it signified are still. A lost orchard is the road on which we passed Where a house was with a candle in the night; And we must go that way still, but at last The house is by the roadside, but no light. Over a lost orchard I have strayed In March when down the wooded ravine The behemoth wind bellowed to the glade By the sky-blue water before the rushes were green. While yet the acorn cups crushed under feet Against the moss mould, yellow as smoke; And the lanterns of wild cucumbers quenched by sleet, And gusts of winter hung by the leafless oak; When the crow's nest was a splotch of sticks on the sky, And burnt out torches of feasts the sumach cone. And I have climbed till the wind was naught but a sigh Over the stairs of stone and the seat of stone. And there I have seen the orchard, the apple trees Patient in loneliness, and forgotten care; And the grass as heavy as the Sargasso Sea's Around the trunks, grown like a dead man's hair. And I have returned in Spring when the nebulae Of early blossoms whitened before it was June; And I have seen them merge in their leafy sky Till they became the light of the full moon. Warm is the orchard as the stalls of the sun At midnight, when each budded stem is dewed With a firefly and the whispering zephyrs run From leaf to leaf, awaking the dreams that brood Before the gray woolens of the shadows fall From the sleeping earth, and the lights of the orchard are wooed From sea gray to sea green in a carnival Change of flame, in a dawning many hued. Till the long winds come, blowing from woodlands over The glistening water, and meadows beyond the citrine Sand of the hill that walls the field of clover Nod their blossoms amid a tide of green. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE ORCHARD by ANNE STEVENSON MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA by WILLIAM BARNES GOOD-BY AND KEEP COLD by ROBERT FROST AN ORCHARD AT AVIGNON by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON OLD APPLE TREES by WILLIAM DEWITT SNODGRASS OF AN ORCHARD by KATHARINE TYNAN IN BLOOMING ORCHARDS by JOHN BURROUGHS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALEXANDER THROCKMORTON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |
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