February: Thinking of Flowers (Jane Kenyon Poem)
Now wind torments the field, turning the white surface back on itself, back and back on itself, like an animal ...
Now wind torments the field, turning the white surface back on itself, back and back on itself, like an animal ...
The fear was on the cattle, for the gale was on the sea, An' the pens broke up on the ...
It could be Valley Oak or Snap-bean, Elderberry, or Cattail rising out of the creek; all began the same, a ...
In the early morning after the girls were safe at school the sun rising slowing over the autumn morn' The ...
Like a bloom of tongues, tasting the fall air, a shepherd's hook of a milkweed plant heavy pod drawn to ...
The Winters are so short -- I'm hardly justified In sending all the Birds away -- And moving into Pod ...
The joy that has no stem no core, Nor seed that we can sow, Is edible to longing. But ablative ...
Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirred Excellent is Bloom But except its ...
My first well Day -- since many ill -- I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my ...
Lain in Nature -- so suffice us The enchantless Pod When we advertise existence For the missing Seed -- Maddest ...
How many Flowers fail in Wood -- Or perish from the Hill -- Without the privilege to know That they ...
He gave away his Life -- To Us -- Gigantic Sum -- A trifle -- in his own esteem -- ...
Forbidden Fruit a flavor has That lawful Orchards mocks -- How luscious lies within the Pod The Pea that Duty ...
There's been a Death, in the Opposite House, As lately as Today -- I know it, by the numb look ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was, That 'Un I got so slick. I couldn't see 'is face because The ...
SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs ...
If she had been beautiful, even, Or wiser than women about her, Or had moved with a certain defiance; If ...
But then there comes that moment rare When, for no cause that I can find, The little voices of the ...
Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel-- Faint iambics that the ...
The air lay soffly on the green fur of the almond, it was April and I said, I begin again ...
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