I wandered down the dying afternoon, Calling my spirit back from land and sky— It had crept out when I stood mountain-high— I might have lost it in that survey soon; Came down to the cool wood's leaf-floored vault Whence all the green and birds had fled Leaving stillness and some gold instead, And braced my soul for the birches' sweet assault. Their dazzling columns swiftly closed me round, And struck me silver wounds in ghostly number, Out-generalled me without a move or sound, Till all else faded to a birch-tree'd slumber; And when I did reluctantly escape, All things took on their dead, familiar shape. .... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LYMAN KING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH ABOVE AND WITHIN by DAVID IGNATOW ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY TO A FRIEND IN THE MAKING by MARIANNE MOORE |