Einstein (Archibald MacLeish Poems)
"Standing between the sun and moon preservesA certain secrecy. Or seems to keepSomething inviolate if only thatHis father was an ...
"Standing between the sun and moon preservesA certain secrecy. Or seems to keepSomething inviolate if only thatHis father was an ...
Hadst thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay storedThe priceless riches of all climes and lands,Say, wouldst thou let ...
Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-worming in pajamas fresh from the washer each morning, I hog a whole house on Boston's ...
About suffering, about adoration, the old masters Disagree. When someone suffers, no one else eats Or walks or opens the ...
At this height, Kansas is just a concept, a checkerboard design of wheat and corn no larger than the foldout ...
My mother's playing cards with my aunt, Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game my grandmother taught all her ...
The shadow of the hawk swooped across my window, breaking my concentration for a moment Above the oak, still bare ...
I Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. ...
Thou dost not fly, thou art not perched, The air is all around: What is it that can keep thee ...
Over the terminal, the arms and chest of the god brightened by snow. Formerly mercury, formerly silver, surface yellowed by ...
I hadn't had the 'flu in ages, avoided all those awful places fraught of gritty eyes and splitting heads, patrons ...
In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok you would never see him doing such a thing, ...
Gaily into Ruislip Gardens Runs the red electric train, With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's Daintily alights Elaine; Hurries down ...
Under my window-ledge the waters race, Otters below and moor-hens on the top, Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's ...
Richard Chessick, John Gedo, James Grotstein and Vamik Voltan What darknesses have you lit up for me What depths of ...
TO oratists-to male or female, Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to use words. Are you full-lung'd and ...
The unrelated paragraphs of morning Are forgotten now; the severed heads of kings Rot by the misty Thames; the roses ...
These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis. They grew their toes and fingers well enough, Their little foreheads ...
To Jena Woodhouse This way of minutes miserably mixed With their own blinks misunderstood By birds and trees, this eye-born ...
Some people find out they are Jews. They can't believe it. Thy had always hated Jews. As children they had ...
My world is a painted fresco, where coloured shapes Of old, ineffectual lives linger blurred and warm; An endless tapestry ...
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