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More poems by Wendell BerryWendell Berry | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Wendell BerryBooks by Wendell Berry

The Silence

Wendell Berry

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root.  Let me say

and not mourn:  the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.


Submitted by nathan

Added: 24 Feb 2003 | Last Read: 27 Jun 2017 11:41 PM | Viewed: 11477 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7965/ | Viewed on 27 June 2017.
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