Favorite poems

That is a human skeleton under the cataract, The jet bones shining in the white noise, The black bones of a man of light. It is a cascade th...

Edna St. Vincent Millay (circa 1920) Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating s...

In any man who dies, there dies with him his first snow and kiss and fight. It goes with him. There are left books and bridges and pai...

While my hair was still cut straight across  my  forehead, I played about the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo st...

The thrushes sing as the sun is going, And the finches whistle in ones and pairs, And as it gets dark loud nightingales              ...