The Colder The Air (Elizabeth Bishop Poems)
We must admire her perfect aim,this huntress of the winter airwhose level weapon needs no sight,if it were not that ...
We must admire her perfect aim,this huntress of the winter airwhose level weapon needs no sight,if it were not that ...
Across the floor flits the mechanical toy, fit for a king of several centuries back. A little circus horse with ...
I A washing hangs upon the line, but it's not mine. None of the things that I can see belong ...
On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can't ...
This is the house of Bedlam. This is the man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the ...
About the size of an old-style dollar bill, American or Canadian, mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays ...
For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing ...
The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric shocks. They have arranged to meet the ...
For a Child of 1918 My grandfather said to me as we sat on the wagon seat, "Be sure to ...
From narrow provinces of fish and bread and tea, home of the long tides where the bay leaves the sea ...
September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child ...
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