Peacock Feathers

Hilda Conkling

 Next Poem          

On trees of fairyland
grow peacock feathers of daylight colors
like an Austrian fan.
But there is a strange thing!
I have heard that night gathers these feathers
for her cloak;
I have heard that the stars, the moon,
are the eyes of peacock feathers
from fairy trees.
It is a thing that may be,
but I should not be sure of it, my dear,
if I were you!

Next Poem 

 Back to Hilda Conkling
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.