The tamarack kept something for her;
The wind is ready to help her shoes.
The north has loved her; she will be
A grandmother feeding geese on frosty
Mornings; she will understand
Early snow on the cranberries
Better and better then.
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BECAUSE I have called to you
or the want of a spotted hawkis called-because in the duskthe warblers shoot the runningwaters of short songs to thehomecoming warblers-becausethe cry here is wing to wingand song to song-I am waiting,waiting with the flame flamingo,the spotted hawk, the running waterwarbler-waiting for you.
GRIEG being dead we may speak of him and his art.
Grieg being with Ibsen, Björnson, Lief Ericson and the rest,Grieg being dead does not care a hell’s hoot what we say.Morning, Spring, Anitra’s Dance,He dreams them at the doors of new stars.
IF we were such and so, the same as these,
tumbling half over in the water mirrors,tumbling half over at the horse heads of the sun,tumbling our purple numbers.Twirl on, you and your satin blue.Be water birds, be air birds.Be these purple tumblers you are.Dip and get awayFrom loops into slip-knots,Write your own ciphers and figure eights.It is your wooded island here in Lincoln park.Everybody…
Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
In a last will and testament Andrew Jacksonremembered a friend with the gift of GeorgeWashington’s pocket spy-glass.Napoleon too, in a last testament, mentioned a silverwatch taken from the bedroom of Frederick the Great,and passed along this trophy to a particular friend.O. Henry took a blood carnation from his coat lapeland handed it to a country…
I have seen
And the new gods come.Day by dayAnd year by yearThe idols fallAnd the idols rise.TodayI worship the hammer.
THE TIME has gone by.
The child was never even born.Why go on? Why so much as begin?How can we turn the clock back nowAnd not laugh at each otherAs ashes laugh at ashes?