In a Garden (Amy Lowell Poem)
Gushing from the mouths of stone men To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble ...
Gushing from the mouths of stone men To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble ...
(sign at a railroad crossing in Kenya) In a poem, one line may hide another line, As at a crossing, ...
I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at ...
I Remember, I Remember I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun ...
It faces west, and round the back and sides High beeches, bending, hang a veil of boughs, And sweep against ...
The man held his hands to his heart as he danced. He slacked and swirled. The doorways of the little ...
The rose shears moving quickly I gathered the sprigs of lilacs from all over the yard Moving quickly to gather ...
The lilacs illumined in the morning sun hard to describe the color so soft, finely spun Blue, not purple like ...
A cloud of intoxication slowing our steps or mine at least gathering in the nectar breathing springtime in The white ...
The lilacs budding, as is the magnolia the ground bare, except for the downed limbs the crocuses coming up through ...
Way darker than violet rich, saturated, pure color-wheel-purple shimmering color of the lilacs full bouquets on each branch bunches and ...
In the lee of the schoolyard the bushes shrouded still in the shadows of early dawn lavender purple lilacs, the ...
Finding the tares, the weeds the grasses, the ragweed, milkweed and plantain, growing, thriving in the lilies, the beds, the ...
The lilac bush, next to the school had no blossoms, no blooms, none below their reach, only high in the ...
There is poetry where you live in the real-time, living of our lives little bits of grace, of beauty, of ...
First storm of the year thickening sky, heavy air darkening below the blue weight on the limbs the leaves turned ...
Thou hast committed- Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew of Malta. ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal ...
It will be Summer -- eventually. Ladies -- with parasols -- Sauntering Gentlemen -- with Canes -- And little Girls ...
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream" Thousands of light flakes of crushed gold for its blossoms, Trimmed jade for ...
She gathered lilacs and arrayed them in her hair; tonight, she taught the wind to be free. She kept her ...
A RETURN TO THE COVER OF THIS BOOK Dear Trout Fishing in America: I met your friend Fritz in Washington ...
Southeast, and storm, and every weathervane shivers and moans upon its dripping pin, ragged on chimneys the cloud whips, the ...
I. Moonlight silvers the tops of trees, Moonlight whitens the lilac shadowed wall And through the evening fall, Clearly, as ...
There's a place I know where the birds swing low, And wayward vines go roaming, Where the lilacs nod, and ...
Lilacs blossom just as sweet Now my heart is shattered. If I bowled it down the street, Who's to say ...
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the poem, that the head tries to excise. At 6 a.m., the wet lion. ...
All night the knot in the shoelace waits for its liberation, and the match on the table packs its head ...
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings, That appeared once, still wet As shining chestnuts ...
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