Poem Hunter
The Silent Folk

The Silent Folk

Oh, praise me not the silent folk;
To me they only seem
Like leafless, bird-abandoned oak
And muffled, frozen stream.

I want the leaves to talk and tell
The joy that's in the tree,
And water-nymphs to weave a spell
Of pixie melody.

Your silent folk may be sincere,
But still, when all is said,
We have to grant they're rather drear, --
And maybe, too, they're dead.

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes )

Other poems of CHARLES WHARTON STORK (2)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.