This is the ancient irony of words, That they, the light, the free, the proudly spoken, More perilous and bright than naked swords, Should fall in rust and be each one a token Of musty memory, obscure and broken. Ah, cool imperious words that gravely strive To pierce dark separate meanings, lover by lover, In arrowed ways . . The savage few shall live, The disenchanted fragile rest give over . . . Let the cold comfort them, the hard night cover. But you, who are to me haunted singing Of all the world's lost beauty . . let none stir That song with lesser voices, lightly bringing Moth-words to music, lovely words to her Whose very silences are lovelier. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 6. SUNSET IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |