By Emily Wilson
stripped batting of cloud glimpsed ligaments dusk coming up under lithographic, nib-hatchings instruments...
Explore Poems: Landscapes & Pastorals
Showing 1-20 of 1,114 poems
Filter Results
- By Stephen Ratcliffelight coming into fog against invisible top of ridge, blue jay on redwood fence in foreground, sound...
- By Cole Swensena river slips in shifting leaves sifting. a river sifts and falls to pieces in which not seen (this ...
- By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven! O silent sign of winter skies! What adverse wind thy sail has driven...
- By John TickhillIn springtime, chief of all seasons, in May when new joys rise and flourish, the sun is lord and messenger...
- By Jane HirshfieldOn the fifth day the scientists who studied the rivers were forbidden to speak or to study the rivers...
- By Alvin FeinmanThis this will it always be, and why To ever argue for: here walking In its life, or sprawled, or loitering...
- By Ted HughesI climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark. Evil air, a frost-making stillness, Not a leaf...
- By Tracy K. Smith200 cows more than 600 hilly acres property would have been even larger had J not sold 66 acres to DuPont...
- By Ahmad Almallahthe wound is bleeding into white the wound is threading clouds across the eye, across its view and how...
- By Danez SmithO California, don’t you know the sun is only a god if you learn to starve for him? I’m bored with the...
- By Safia Elhillowhen i think of us i think of the lakewater near longtown, what might not technically constitute a lake...
- By CAConradOver seven billion human beings live on Earth now. We have displaced or made extinct so many other species...
- By Emily DickinsonI have never seen "Volcanoes" — But, when Travellers tell How those old — phlegmatic mountains Usually...
- By Linda PastanIn this kingdom the sun never sets; under the pale oval of the sky there seems no way in or out, and...
- By Cheryl SavageauIn his new poem the red autumn woods are a metaphor for leftist martyrs We are traveling east through...
- By Osip MandelstamToo black, too much indulged, living in clover, all little withers, all air, all charity, all crumbling...
- By Osip MandelstamDo not compare: what lives is incomparable. I felt a a kind of tender fear as I took on the plains' ...
- By Osip MandelstamI was washing at night out in the yard— the heavens glowing with rough stars. A star-beam like salt ...
- By Kerrin McCaddenI Google where I come from in Ireland, drag the yellow man into street view and click the spin arrow over and ...