At Chappaqua

His cherished woods are mute. The stream glides down The hill as when I knew it years ago; The dark, pine arbor with its priestly gown Stands hushed, as if our grief it still would show; The silver springs are cupless, and the flow Of friendly feet no more bereaves the grass, For he is absent who was wont to pass Along this wooded path. His axe’s blow No more disturbs the impertinent bole or bough; Nor moves his pen our heedless nation now, Which, sworn to justice, stirred the people so. In some far world his much-loved face must glow With rapture still. This breeze once fanned his brow. This is the peaceful Mecca all men know!

Collection: 
English
Joel Benton

More from Poet

  • The Scarlet Tanager

    A Ball of fire shoots through the tamarack In scarlet splendor, on voluptuous wings; Delirious joy the pyrotechnist brings, Who marks for us high summer’s almanac. How instantly the red-coat hurtles back! No fiercer flame has flashed beneath the sky. Note now the rapture in his cautious eye, The...

  • December

    When the feud of hot and cold Leaves the autumn woodlands bare; When the year is getting old, And flowers are dead, and keen the air; When the crow has new concern, And early sounds his raucous note; And—where the late witch-hazels burn— The squirrel from a chuckling throat Tells...

  • The Scarlet Tanager

    A ball of fire shoots through the tamarack In scarlet splendor, on voluptuous wings; Delirious joy the pyrotechnist brings, Who marks for us high summer’s almanac. How instantly the red-coat hurtles back! No fiercer flame has flashed beneath the sky. Note now the rapture in his cautious eye, The...

  • At Chappaqua

    His cherished woods are mute. The stream glides down The hill as when I knew it years ago; The dark, pine arbor with its priestly gown Stands hushed, as if our grief it still would show; The silver springs are cupless, and the flow Of friendly feet no more bereaves the grass, For he is absent...