In the Shadows
The silent music of the flowers
Wind-mingled shall not fail to cheer
The lonely hours
When I no more am here.
Then in some shady willow place
Take up the book my heart has made,
And hide your face
Against my name which was a shade.
Poems on the topic: willow
Poems on the topic “willow” on Poets.by.
Spring Pastoral
Liza, go steep your long white hands
In the cool waters of that spring
Which bubbles up through shiny sands
The color of a wild-dove's wing.
Dabble your hands, and steep them well
Until those nails are pearly white
Now rosier than a laurel bell;
Then come to me at candle-light.
Lay your cold hands across my brows,
And I shall sleep, and I shall dream
Of silver-pointed willow boughs
Dipping their fingers in a stream.
Columbus Cheney
This weeping willow!
Why do you not plant a few
For the millions of children not yet born,
As well as for us?
Are they not non-existent, or cells asleep
Without mind?
Or do they come to earth, their birth
Rupturing the memory of previous being?
Answer!
The field of unexplored intuition is yours.
But in any case why not plant willows for them,
As well as for us?
Kiss, My Love, Kiss
Kiss, my love, kiss
My burning, breaking being;
So when cold death
Will put out the light
In some wilderness
Of far forsaken life
Might each kiss blossom
Into a lotus and a Shephali.
And in the desolate hours
Of loneliness of traveling
In the dusk of despair
One petal of these
Will cheer the vagrant souls
That tread the pathway
Of love's forsaking.
Or, when Death will sow
Prairie Waters by Night
Chatter of birds two by two raises a night song joining
a litany of running water — sheer waters showing the
russet of old stones remembering many rains.
And the long willows drowse on the shoulders of the
running water, and sleep from much music; joined
songs of day-end, feathery throats and stony waters,
in a choir chanting new psalms.
It is too much for the long willows when low laughter
of a red moon comes down ; and the willows drowse
and sleep on the shoulders of the running water.
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