Category Poets

Spring rides no horses down the hill,But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.And all the loveliest things there beCome simply, so, it seems to me.If ever I said, in grief or pride,I tired of honest things, I lied:And should be…

If I grow bitterly,Like a gnarled and stunted tree,Bearing harshly of my youthPuckered fruit that sears the mouth;If I make of my drawn boughsAn Inshospitable House,Out of which I nevery pryTowards the water and the sky,Under which I stand and…

Just a rainy day or twoIn a windy tower,That was all I had of you—Saving half an hour. Marred by greeting passing groupsIn a cinder walk,Near some naked blackberry hoopsDim with purple chalk. I remember three or fourThings you said…

I drank at every vine. The last was like the first. I came upon no wine So wonderful as thirst. I gnawed at every root. I ate of every plant. I came upon no fruit So wonderful as want. Feed…

If I were to walk this way Hand in hand with Grief,I should mark that maple-spray Coming into leaf.I should note how the old burrs Rot upon the ground.Yes, though Grief should know me hers While the world goes round,It…

IOh, little rose tree, bloom!Summer is nearly over.The dahlias bleed, and the phlox is seed. Nothing’s left of the clover.And the path of the poppy no one knows. I would blossom if I were a rose.Summer, for all your guile,Will…

I am a shepherd of those sheep That climb a wall by night,One after one, until I sleep, Or the black pane goes white.Because of which I cannot see A flock upon a hill,But doubts come tittering up to me…

Now the autumn shuddersIn the rose’s root,Far and wide the laddersLean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambersUp the trellised frameAnd the rose remembersThe dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossomOn the rose’s boughSits the wizened orange,Bitter berry…

My heart, being hungry, feeds on food The fat of heart despise.Beauty where beauty never stood, And sweet where no sweet liesI gather to my querulous need,Having a growing heart to feed.It may be, when my heart is dull, Having…

And what are you that, wanting you,I should be kept awakeAs many nights as there are daysWith weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you,As many days as crawlI should be listening to the windAnd looking at…