To A Dead Poet Poem by Eleanor Rogers Cox
To A Dead Poet
I SPEAK your name—a magic thing—
Jocund April takes my hand,
Golden birds begin to sing,
Laughter fills the silver land.
I speak your name—a Matin bell—
Buoyant, godlike, you arise—
Flinging far the slumber-spell
Laid upon your heart and eyes.
I speak your name—and Summer’s here—
Glad beyond all Summers gone—
And you are shining like the spear
God fashioned in His first day’s dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/7/2024 12:37:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
