Oh, praise me not the silent folk; To me they only seem Like leafless, bird-abandoned oak And muffled, frozen stream. I want the leaves to talk and tell The joy that's in the tree, And water-nymphs to weave a spell Of pixie melody. Your silent folk may be sincere, But still, when all is said, We have to grant they're rather drear, -- And maybe, too, they're dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIDDLING WOOD by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET A POST-IMPRESSIONIST SUSURRATION FOR THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW A FLORIDA SUNDAY by SIDNEY LANIER ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND |