STEELY stars and moon of brass, <br />How mockingly you watch me pass! <br />You know as well as I how soon <br />I shall be blind to stars and moon, <br />Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tree, <br />Dumb when the brown earth weighs on me. <br />With envious dark rage I bear, <br />Stars, your cold complacent stare; <br />Heart-broken in my hate look up, <br />Moon, at your clear immortal cup, <br />Changing to gold from dusky red— <br />Age after age when I am dead <br />To be filled up with light, and then <br />Emptied, to be refilled again. <br />What has man done that only he <br />Is slave to death—so brutally <br />Beaten back into the earth <br />Impatient for him since his birth? <br />Oh let me shut my eyes, close out <br />The sight of stars and earth and be <br />Sheltered a minute by this tree. <br />Hemlock, through your fragrant boughs <br />There moves no anger and no doubt, <br />No envy of immortal things. <br />The night-wind murmurs of the sea <br />With veiled music ceaselessly, <br />That to my shaken spirit sings. <br />From their frail nest the robins rouse, <br />In your pungent darkness stirred, <br />Twittering a low drowsy word— <br />And me you shelter, even me. <br />In your quietness you house <br />The wind, the woman and the bird. <br />You speak to me and I have heard:<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wind-in-the-hemlock-2/
