Poetry Archives

They know not the green leaves;
In whose earth-haunting dream
Dimly the forest heaves,
And voiceless goes the stream.
  Strangely they seek a place
  In love’s night-memoried hall;
  Peering from face to face,
  Until some heart shall call
  And keep them, for a breath,
  Half-mortal … (Hark to the rain!)…
  They are dead … (O hear how death
  Gropes on the shutter’d pane!)