THAT was by the door
Leafy evening in the apple trees
And you would not forget this anymore
And even if you died there would be these
Touchings remembered
and you would return
From any bourne from any shore
To find the evening in these leaves
To find my arms beside this door…
I think O my not now Ophelia
There are not always (like a moon)
Rememberings afterward
(I think there are
Sometimes a few strange stars upon the sky.)
(Archibald MacLeish)
More Poetry from Archibald MacLeish:
- The Sheep In The Ruins (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
- Hypocrite Auteur (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
- 'Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments' (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
- Definition Of The Frontiers (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
- The Night Dream (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
- Immortal Autumn (Archibald MacLeish Poems)