Find and share the perfect poems.
This veil
Of lavender and dawn
Floats off
Invisible,
And this of purple noon
Unwinds in wisdom,
Twitters, undulates,
Dips, darts,
And this of night
Circles around me singing
To the very edge and presence of the young moon—
And it brushes the tip
Like lips
Three times.
This poem is in the public domain, and originally appeared in Others for 1919; An Anthology of the New Verse (Nicholas L. Brown, 1920).
You would not think that, lost so young
Here in this outer land,
I still should feel my spirit wrung
And still not understand . . .
Though Grenstone is the name they said,
And though I pack my load
And though my cap is on my head —
What do I care which road?
The reach of peace, the sky, the pines,
Leave me no more perplexed,
In which a memory divines
That bodies, buried, yet arise
Across the reach of all the skies,
Unburied and unvexed.
What and where am I and who?
I can never tell. Can you?
Can a sunset after rain
Or a moonlit wave explain,
Can a willow tell you why
Or a star? No more can I.