Marianne Moore

(November 15, 1887 – February 5, 1972 / Kirkwood, Missouri)


Poem by Marianne Moore

My father used to say,
"Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self reliant like the cat --
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth --
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint."
Nor was he insincere in saying, "`Make my house your inn'."
Inns are not residences.

Comments about Silence by Marianne Moore

  • Paresh ChakraParesh Chakra (11/30/2018 10:03:00 AM)

    I enjoyed this poem it is a good poem(Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • manjunth h mp (5/24/2018 2:50:00 AM)

    silence is my best and heart near frnd(Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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Read poems about / on: solitude, cat, silence, sometimes, father, house, people, flower

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003