Charles Wharton Stork: The Silent Folk

The Silent Folk

Charles Wharton Stork

Oh, praise me not the silent folk; To me they only seem Like leafless, bird-abandoned oak And muffled, frozen stream.
I want the leaves to talk and tell The joy that's in the tree, And water-nymphs to weave a spell Of pixie melody.
Your silent folk may be sincere, But still, when all is said, We have to grant they're rather drear, — And maybe, too, they're dead.