Harold Hart Crane
My Grandmother's Love Letters
There are no stars to-night
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
There is even room enough
For the letters of my mother's mother,
That have been pressed so long
Into a corner of the roof
That they are brown and soft,
And liable to melt as snow.
Over the greatness of such space
Steps must be gentle.
It is all hung by an invisible white hair.
It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.
And I ask myself:
'Are your fingers long enough to play
Old keys that are but echoes:
Is the silence strong enough
To carry back the music to its source
And back to you again
As though to her?'
Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand
Through much of what she would not understand;
And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof
With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.
Harold Hart Crane's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (My Grandmother's Love Letters by Harold Hart Crane )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- A Lesson From Golf, Edgar Albert Guest
- Man's Experience, Edgar Albert Guest
- Under A Tree, Edgar Albert Guest
- Business, Edgar Albert Guest
- A Place At The Top, Edgar Albert Guest
- Life And Hereafter, Edgar Albert Guest
- Can't Frighten Them, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Man Of His Word, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Man I Like, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Road Builder, Edgar Albert Guest