The wood is talking in its sleep. Have a care, trees! You are heard by the brook and the breeze And the listening lake; And some of the birds are awake, I know. Green, garrulous wood, I trusted you so!
All night the crickets chirp, Like little stars of twinkling sound In the dark silence. They sparkle through the stillness With a crisp rhythm: They lift the shadows on their tiny voices.
But at the flickering note of birds that wake, Flashing from tree to tree till all the wood is lit With their golden coloratura of dawn, The cricket-stars fade softly, One by one.
You lie there. Too still beneath the waters, More than a reflection, Less than a tree: Your limbs gleam upward, Your dank leaves are like the hair of a drowned woman. No longer do you know the touch of spring, Nor will the birds build their round nurseries Between your white fingers. The wood has forgotten you, The breezes have forgotten. But the moon mourns. Slipping a silver shroud about you Pitifully, As you lie, still beautiful. In your unhallowed grave. Poor suicide!
LADY MEADOW, Coquetting there with noon, You balance and sway your rustling trees Like crisp brocade hoop-skirts. Over your curling gold of buttercups You powder thick the daisy-petals, And near the pond. Iris-lashed, heaven-reflected — Yet not too near — You flaunt serenely, One black cow.
Reclining; Much as a Royal favorite wears Her patch. Beneath the smiling blue of her arch eye.
Its hot voice sizzles from some cool tree Near-by : It seems to burn its way through the air Like a small, pointed flame of sound Sharpened on the ecstatic edge of sunbeams.
The little clouds are all in white To-day : They kneel at God's high blue altar To receive the moon.
The baby moon lies curled up on a cloud's lap, Kicking its golden heels: I think I hear it crowing to the stars.
Night, leaning there upon the hills. What robber cloud has dared?
The great white pearl you wore, Hung from your glittering chain of stars, Is gone: And in its place a red wound drips Its anguished light.
Leonora Speyer was an American poet and violinist, active in the early twentieth century. Born in Washington, D.C., she studied violin in Europe and performed as a concert violinist before turning to poetry. Her first collection, A Canopic Jar, appeared in 1921, and her second, Fiddler's Farewell, won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1927. Her poetry often employs musical structures and imagery, reflecting her background as a musician. Common themes include romantic love, memory, and the passage of time, expressed through lyrical and sometimes elegiac language. Speyer's work is associated with the late Romantic tradition, though it also engages with themes of modernity and loss. She was involved in the women's suffrage movement and served as vice president of the Poetry Society of America. In addition to her verse, she published a novel, The Chessboard, and translated poetry from German. Her poems appeared in major periodicals of the era and were collected in anthologies. Speyer remains recognized for her contribution to American poetry of the 1920s, particularly for the musicality and emotional depth of her work.
Aprendizaje paso a paso, grabaciones de voz para compartir y recordatorios de repaso.
