Explore "Dreams" by Amy Lowell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I do not care to talk to you although / Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies, / And all my being's silent harmonies / Wake trembling into music. When you go / It is as if some sudden, dreadful blow / Had severed all the strings with savage ease.
No, do not talk; but let us rather seize / This intimate gift of silence which we know.
Others may guess your thoughts from what you say, / As storms are guessed from clouds where darkness broods.
To me the very essence of the day / Reveals its inner purpose and its moods; / As poplars feel the rain and then straightway / Reverse their leaves and shimmer through the woods.