Sunday, March 16, 2014


- Thomas Hood

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hush'd—no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free.
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox, or wild hy├Žna, calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,—
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.


  1. Replies
    1. Yes . . . and it made me think of how rare it is these days to actually find real silence.

  2. I was looking for an email for you but couldn't find one. How about April 7 for National Poetry Month Blog Tour?

    1. The tab above: ABOUT under contact is my email:

      April 7 is fine. I'm sorry I took so long to get back to you. I have been under the weather.