The Birthnight: To F

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Title:     The Birthnight: To F
Author: Walter De la Mare [More Titles by De la Mare]

Dearest, it was a night
That in its darkness rocked Orion's stars;
A sighing wind ran faintly white
Along the willows, and the cedar boughs
Laid their wide hands in stealthy peace across
The starry silence of their antique moss:
No sound save rushing air
Cold, yet all sweet with Spring,
And in thy mother's arms, couched weeping there,
Thou, lovely thing.

[The end]
Walter De la Mare's poem: Birthnight: To F

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