These days of only poems and depression— what can I do with them? Will they help me notice what I cannot bear to look at? — Robert Lowell, from “Notice,” Day by Day. (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; 1st edition August 1977)
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake … Continue reading Robert Frost
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle That while you watched turned to pieces of snow Riding a gradient invisible From silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn’t tell. And then they clearly flew instead of fell. — Howard Nemerov, “Because You Asked about the Line between Prose… Continue reading Howard Nemerov
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts. The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds. The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the… Continue reading Carl Sandburg
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces Between stars–on stars where no human race is. I have it in me so much nearer home To scare myself with my own desert places. ― Robert Frost, from “Desert Places,” The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged. (Holt Paperbacks; 2 Revised edition April 1, 2002)
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. —Carl Sandburg, “Fog,” The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg (Harcourt Brace, 1970).
I have love And a child, A banjo And shadows. (Losses of God, All will go And one day We will hold Only the shadows.) — Carl Sandburg, “Losses,” Chicago Poems. (Dover Publications, 1994) Originally published 1916.