Find and share the perfect poems.
There is a star whose bite is certain death
While the moon but makes you mad —
So run from stars till you are out of breath
On a spring night, my lad,
Or slip among the shadows of a pine
And hide face down from the sky
And never stir and never make a sign,
Till the wild star goes by.
From A Canticle of Pan and Other Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1920) by Witter Bynner. Copyright © 1920 by Alfred A. Knopf. This poem is in the public domain.
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,
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.