Sunday, January 1, 2012

Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon

By Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am in love with him
to whom a hyacinth is dearer
than I shall ever be dear.

On nights when the field-mice
are abroad, he cannot sleep.
He hears their narrow teeth
at the bulbs of his hyacinths.

But the gnawing at my heart
he does not hear.


I woke to the wind dancing in the Pines across the street as my windchimes tinkled.  In the distance, birdsong.  A perfect start to the new year.



Kelly said...

The Kenyon poem - one I know and love!! Thanks for sharing it with us today, Marion. :)

Wine and Words said...

I bought two potted flowers yesterday. I miss my yard, so it is a miniature I've created. I took a long bike ride, mostly listening for cars, but now as I recoup...I can hear a bird outside my window simply because you have brought it to my attention! Thank you my Marion!

erin said...

let evening come, a sweet and gentle poem, like a familiar hand on a bare ankle. a comfort, marion.


Ben Ditty said...

Ah, a perfect day in the swamp :) Each start a perfect start.

Serena said...

Lovely, lovely poems to start the year.

We're having a lot of wind, so my wind chimes are keeping me entertained. It's a good thing I love the sound so much.

Happy New Year!

quid said...

I'm always particularly taken by the line from this Kenyon poem...

"God does not leave us comfortless..."

He doesn't, does He?


Snowbrush said...

I love Millay but hadn't seen this poem.