Marjorie Allen Seiffert

From “Gallery of Paintings”

THE MOONLIT hill

And the black trees

Where a hidden bird

Sings and is still—

Even these

Leave me unstirred.

I am hidden deep,

Like the secret bough

Of a tree in leaf.

I am safe asleep—

What can touch me now

Of joy or grief?

For night and noon

The sky is shut,

The winds are dumb;

Behind the moon

No gates are cut

For the winds to come.

Could wind from the moon

Sweep down until,

Like a winter tree,

My leaves were strewn

On the moonlit hill

And I stood free,

Beauty and pain

Would touch me now

With bitter cold,

As moonbeams rain

Through a naked bough

When the year is old.