by: Karle Wilson Baker
- od wrote my heart a letter, I believe,
- And used the branches of the naked trees
- Against the winter sky, for characters.
- I cannot translate into mortal words
- The dainty hieroglyphics of the elm,
- The oracles in oak, the willow's rhyme,
- Nor any of the lovely dialects
- That write themselves across the setting sun.
- But, like some tonsured pedant of old time
- Who wooed his dimming parchment like a bride,
- And pored upon it, yearning, day and night,
- So, year by year, I take my lesson up,
- And dream out little meanings, one by one,
- Writ in the margin of God's manuscript.
MORE POEMS BY KARLE WILSON BAKER
|"Winter Secrets" is reprinted from Blue Smoke. Karle Wilson Baker. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1919.