On Being Asked to Write a School Hymn
On a starless night and
Underneath a sleeping
Comes the cry of sheep and
From the slaughter house to mine
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The Poem You Asked For
My poem would eat nothing
I tried giving it water but it said no, worrying me
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight, turning it over, but it only pressed its lips more tightly together
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The Rhodora On Being Asked Whence Is The Flower
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook
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