I'M not a chicken;
I have seen Full many a chill September, And though I was a youngster then, That gale I well remember; The day before, my kite-string snapped, And I, my kite pursuing, The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat; For me two storm...
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass byA sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment,
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold:
No clock counts this
When kisses are repeated and the arms hold There is no telling where time is
It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still:
She is struggling through grass-mesh - not flying,
Her wide-winged, stiff, weightless basket-work of
Rocking, like an antique wain, a top-heavy ceremonial
Across mountain summits(Not planing over water, dipping her tail)But blunderi...
On an apple-ripe September
Through the mist-chill fields I
With a pitch-fork on my
Less for use than for devilment
Millions of babies watching the
Bellies swollen, with big round
On Jessore Road--long bamboo
No place to shit but sand channel
The wisest man could ask no more of
Than to be simple, modest, manly, true,
Safe from the Many, honoured by the Few;
To count as naught in World, or Church, or State,
Lo
a ripe sheaf of many golden days Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways,
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember,
Some crimson poppy of a late delight Atoning in its splendor for the flight Of summer blooms and joysT...
I sit in one of the
On Fifty-second
Uncertain and
As the clever hopes
My child and I hold hands on the way to school,
And when I leave him at the first-grade
He cries a little but is brave; he
Let go
O Friend
I know not which way I must
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only
It was late September. I’d just poured a glass of wine, begun
to unwind, while the vegetables cooked. The kitchen
filled with the smell of itself, relaxed, its steamy breath
gently blanching the windows. So I opened one,