There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.
But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.
Similar Posts
The shattered water made a misty din.
And thought of doing something to the shoreThat water never did to land before.The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.You could not tell, and yet it looked as ifThe shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,The cliff in being backed by continent;It looked as…
Christmas Trees – Poem by Robert Frost
The city had withdrawn into itselfAnd left at last the country to the country;When between whirls of snow not come to lieAnd whirls of foliage not yet laid, there droveA stranger to our yard, who looked the city,Yet did in country fashion in that thereHe sat and waited till he drew us outA-buttoning coats to…
Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs
Deeper down in the well than where the waterGives me back in a shining surface pictureMe myself in the summer heaven godlikeLooking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,Something more of the depths–and…
I Will Sing You One-O – Poem by Robert Frost
It was long I layAwake that nightWishing that nightWould name the hourAnd tell me whetherTo call it day(Though not yet light)And give up sleep.The snow fell deepWith the hiss of spray;Two winds would meet,One down one street,One down another,And fight in a smotherOf dust and feather.I could not say,But feared the coldHad checked the paceOf…
There were three in the meadow by the brook,
With an eye always lifted toward the west,Where an irregular, sun-bordered cloudDarkly advanced with a perpetual daggerFlickering across its bosom. SuddenlyOne helper, thrusting pitchfork in the ground,Marched himself off the field and home. One stayed.The town-bred farmer failed to understand.What was there wrong?Something you said just now.What did I say?About our taking pains.To cock the…
Once By The Pacific – Poem by Robert Frost
The shattered water made a misty din.Great waves looked over others coming in,And thought of doing something to the shoreThat water never did to land before.The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.You could not tell, and yet it looked as ifThe shore was lucky in…