Poem by Henry Cuyler Bunner

Deaf

As to a bird’s song she were listening,
Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent;
Her questioning eyes lift up their depths intent—
She, who will never hear the wild-birds sing.
My words within her ears’ cold chambers ring
Faint, with the city’s murmurous sub-tones blent,
Though with such sounds as suppliants may have sent
To high-throned goddesses, my speech takes wing.

Not for the side-poised head's appealing grace
I gaze, nor hair where fire in shadow lies—
For her this world's unhallowed noises base
Melt into silence; not our groans, our cries,
Our curses reach that high-removed place
Where dwells her spirit, innocently wise.

1. For an Old Poet
2. Farewell to Salvini
3. Janiveer in March
4. Shriven
5. The Future of the Classics

Emily Pfeiffer Deaf ("NEVER to hear the chorus that awakes")

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