Poetry Archives

Clear from the deep sky pours the moon
Her silver on the heavy dark;
The small stars blink.

Against the moon the maple bough
Flutters distinct her leafy spears;
All sound falls weak….

Weak the train’s whistle, the dog’s bark,
Slow steps; and rustling into her nest
At last, the thrush.

All’s still; only earth turns and breathes.
Then that amazing trembling note
Cleaves the deep wave

Of silence. Shivers even that silvery one;
Sigh all the trees, even the cedar dark
——O joy, and I.