American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Modernism · Poetry

Edna St. Vincent Millay

When the Year Grows Old I cannot but remember  When the year grows old—October—November—  How she disliked the cold! She used to watch the swallows Go down across the sky,And turn from the window  With a little sharp sigh.  And often when the brown leaves  Were brittle on the ground,And the wind in the chimney … Continue reading Edna St. Vincent Millay

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Barbara Crooker

Praise the light of late November,the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;though they are clothed in night, they do notdespair. Praise what little there’s left:the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,shells, the architecture of trees. Praise the meadowof dried weeds: yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,the remains of… Continue reading Barbara Crooker

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Canadian Culture · Canadian Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Leonard Cohen

I thought shadows fell deceptively,urging memories of perfect rhyme.I thought I could bestow beautylike a benediction and that your half-dark fleshwould answer to the prayer.I thought I understood your facebecause I had seen it painted twiceor a hundred times, or kissed itwhen it was carved in stone. With only a breath, a vague turning,you uncovered… Continue reading Leonard Cohen

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