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Poem by Amy Lowell


Listening


T is you that are the music, not your song.
The song is but a door which, opening wide,
Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,
Your spirits harmony, which clear and strong
Sings but of you.  Throughout your whole life long
Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide
This perfect beauty; waves within a tide,
Or single notes amid a glorious throng.
The song of earth has many different chords;
Ocean has many moods and many tones
Yet always ocean.  In the damp Spring woods
The painted trillium smiles, while crisp pine cones
Autumn alone can ripen.  So is this
One music with a thousand cadences.



Amy Lowell


Amy Lowell's other poems:
  1. The Bungler
  2. The Painter on Silk
  3. The Fool Errant
  4. The Boston Athenaeum
  5. Frankincense and Myrrh


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • David Lawrence Listening ("I listen to the stillness of you")

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