Charles Wharton Stork
Charles Wharton Stork Poems
Oh, praise me not the silent folk;
To me they only seem
Like leafless, bird-abandoned oak
And muffled, frozen stream.
...
Death is like moonlight in a lofty wood,
That pours pale magic through the shadowy leaves;
'T is like the web that some old perfume weaves
In a dim, lonely room where memories brood;
...
How must it be to swim among your kind,
Dull with the cold and dreary with the dark,
Enclosed above, beneath, before, behind
...
The Best Poem Of Charles Wharton Stork
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.
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