Carl Sandburg - Fog::THE fog comes\non little cat feet.\nIt sits looking\nover harbor and city\non silent haunches\nand then moves on.\nCarl Sandburg (1878-1967)
Carl Sandburg - Grass::PILE the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.\nShovel them under and let me work--\nI am the grass; I cover all.\nAnd pile them high at Gettysburg\nAnd pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.\nShovel them under and let me work.\nTwo years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor:\nWhat place is this?\nWhere are we now?\nI am the grass.\nLet me work.\nCarl Sandburg (1878-1967)
William Shakespeare - Take, Oh Those Lips Away::Take, oh take those lips away,\nthat so sweetly were forsworne,\nAnd those eyes: the breake of day\nlights that doe mislead the Morne;\nBut my kisses bring againe, bring againe,\nSeales of loue, but seal'd in vaine, seal'd in vaine.\nWilliam Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Wallace Stevens - The Snow Man::One must have a mind of winter\nTo regard the frost and the boughs\nOf the pine-trees crusted with snow;\n4And have been cold a long time\nTo behold the junipers shagged with ice,\nThe spruces rough in the distant glitter\nOf the January sun; and not to think\nOf any misery in the sound of the wind,\nIn the sound of a few leaves,\nWhich is the sound of the land\nFull of the same wind\nThat is blowing in the same bare place\nFor the listener, who listens in the snow,\nAnd, nothing himself, beholds\nNothing that is not there and the nothing that is.\nWallace Stevens (1879-1955)
Walt Whitman - A Noiseless Patient Spider::\nA noiseless patient spider,\nI mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,\nMark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,\nIt launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,\nEver unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.\nAnd you O my soul where you stand,\nSurrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,\nCeaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,\nTill the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,\nTill the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.\nWalt Whitman (1819-1892)
William Carlos Williams - Blizzard::Snow:\nyears of anger following\nhours that float idly down --\nthe blizzard\ndrifts its weight\ndeeper and deeper for three days\nor sixty years, eh? Then\nthe sun! a clutter of\nyellow and blue flakes --\nHairy looking trees stand out\nin long alleys\nover a wild solitude.\nThe man turns and there --\nhis solitary track stretched out\nupon the world.\nWilliam Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
William Wordsworth - Most Sweet it is::Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes\nTo pace the ground, if path be there or none,\nWhile a fair region round the traveller lies\nWhich he forbears again to look upon;\nPleased rather with some soft ideal scene,\nThe work of Fancy, or some happy tone\nOf meditation, slipping in between\nThe beauty coming and the beauty gone.\nIf Thought and Love desert us, from that day\nLet us break off all commerce with the Muse:\nWith Thought and Love companions of our way,\nWhate'er the senses take or may refuse,\nThe Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews\nOf inspiration on the humblest lay.\nWilliam Wordsworth (1770-1850)
