Treasure Island

Karle Wilson Baker

(1878 - 1960 / United States)

I Shall Be Loved As Quiet Things


I shall be loved as quiet things
Are loved--white pigeons in the sun,
Curled yellow leaves that whisper down
One after one;

The silver reticence of smoke
That tells no secret of its birth
Among the fiery agonies
That turn the earth;

Cloud-islands; reaching arms of trees;
The frayed and eager little moon
That strays unheeded through a high
Blue afternoon.

The thunder of my heart must go
Under the muffling of the dust--
As my gray dress has guarded it
The grasses must;

For it has hammered loud enough,
Clamored enough, when all is said:
Only its quiet part shall live
When I am dead.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Edward Hester (8/8/2006 6:42:00 PM)

    A poem about a person unknown who learned to witness the Beauty in her self and her quiet life. (Report) Reply

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