POETRY: Evening, by Thomas Merton

thomas merton

Now, in the middle of the limpid evening,
The moon speaks clearly to the hill.
The wheatfields make their simple music,
Praise the quiet sky.

And down the road, the way the stars come home,
The cries of children
Play on the empty air, a mile or more,
And fall on our deserted hearing,
Clear as water.

They say the sky is made of glass,
They say the smiling moon’s a bride.
They say they love the orchards and apple trees,

The trees, their innocent sisters, dresses in blossoms,
Still wearing, in the blurring dusk,
White dresses from that morning’s first communion.

And, where blue heaven’s fading fire last shines
They name the new come planets
With words that flower
On little voices, light as stems of lilies.

And where blue heaven’s fading fire last shines,
Reflected in the popular’s ripple,
One little, wakeful bird
Sings like a shower.

 

 

1 Comment on POETRY: Evening, by Thomas Merton

  1. Thanks. Merton has a continuing presence in the religious imagination. Regards Thom.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: