I Shall Be Loved As Quiet Things

I shall be loved as quiet things Are loved--white pigeons in the sun, Curled yellow leaves that whisper down One after one; The silver reticence of smoke That tells no secret of its birth Among the fiery agonies That turn the earth; Cloud-islands; reaching arms of trees; The frayed and eager little moon That strays unheeded through a high Blue afternoon. The thunder of my heart must go Under the muffling of the dust-- As my gray dress has guarded it The grasses must; For it has hammered loud enough, Clamored enough, when all is said: Only its quiet part shall live When I am dead.