Poem By Tom Wolfe

And who shall say—
Whatever disenchantment follows—
That we ever forget magic,
Or that we can ever betray,
On this leaden earth,
The apple-tree, the singing,
And the gold?

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Other poems of WOLFE

O Lost

We shall not come again.
We never shall come back again.
But over us all, over us all,

Like the River

Why are you absent in the night, my love?
Where are you when the bells ring in the night?
Now, there are bells again,


The wasting helve of the moon rode into heaven
Over the bulk of the hills.
There was a smell of wet grass and lilac,


On the Square,
The slackened fountain
Dripped a fat spire of freezing water
Into its thickening rim of ice.

The Fading Light of Day

And the slant light steepened in the skies,
The old red light of waning day
Made magic fire upon the river,