Find and share the perfect poems.
This poem is in the public domain.
The Wind is sewing with needles of rain. With shining needles of rain It stitches into the thin Cloth of earth. In, In, in, in. Oh, the wind has often sewed with me. One, two, three. Spring must have fine things To wear like other springs. Of silken green the grass must be Embroidered.
Where she steps a whir,
Like dust about her feet,
Follows after her
Down the dustless street.
Something struggles there:
The forces that contend
Violently as to where
Her pathway is to end.
I will think of water-lilies
Growing in a darkened pool,
And my breath shall move like water,
And my hands be limp and cool.
It shall be as though I waited
In a wooden place alone;
I will learn the peace of lilies
And will take it for my own.