It is a wheel, the rays Around the sun. The wheel survives the myths. The fire eye in the clouds survives the gods. To think of a dove wit

From the tawny light from the rainy nights from the imagination finding itself and more than itself alone and more than alone at the bottom of the wel

    In unexperienced infancy Many a sweet mistake doth lie: Mistake though false, intending true; A seeming somewhat more than view; That

        I speak this poem now with grave and level voice In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall. I praise the flower-barre

    have you not noticed what the world is really like? it is like moonlight shining in dewdrops shaken, flying, from the beak of a crane.

    THE TREES are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimm

An absolute patience. Trees stand up to their knees in fog. The fog slowly flows uphill. White cobwebs, the grass leaning where deer have looked for

    salt rose, topaz, archery, carnations, the birth of fire. You are none of these. You are the holy secret darkness, that space between shad

  It feels that our love is more like a shoestring although it appears to be such a good thing, and all that we have now which is readily seen

  A nothing day full of wild beauty and the timer pings. Roll up the silver off the bay take down the clouds sort the spruce and send to laund

 Daughter of Jove, relentless power,  Thou tamer of the human breast,  Whose iron scourge and torturing hour,  The bad affright, afflict the best

    Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know. If we should

  Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely Given out Take only enough Stop sho

A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between— Some Ruby Trouse

    Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness: The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblan

  When I found the door I found the vine leaves speaking among themselves in abundant whispers. My presence made them hush their green breath,

  Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind Among the stones and thorn-trees, under m

    And the bird called, in response to The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery, And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses Had the look

    The west was getting out of gold, The breath of air had died of cold, When shoeing home across the white, I thought I saw a bird alight.

The métier of blossoming   If humans could be that intensely whole, undistracted, unhurried, swift from sheer unswerving impetus! If we co