I stand in a still, damp churchyard; The alien dust of cities lies over me; Alien chatter Echoes from my lips around the sagging stones. A squirrel drops a twig upon the path. An interval, and I am left alone With the church and the blue-purple Kent hills. First it is the trees that whisper to me, "Still peace and rest, my dear." Then a gargoyle with a crooked face, That laughs all through the long life Of stone up into the sky, Sends me a murmur: "Grow quiet, as I." The yew is lightly Touched by a breeze. It beckons me: "Lay your soul at my feet, and I will Teach it vision that leads above all Turmoil." The still quiet is padded about me; My soul rests, not in a moss-grown Tangle at the foot of the yew; But with a clear ring of laughter It ascends above the gray tower And friendly, world-wise trees To capture an atom of celestial beauty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAROL: NEW STYLE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE SITTING by CECIL DAY LEWIS EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW BRIGHTNESS AS A POIGNANT LIGHT by DAVID IGNATOW TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |