Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

ah, october


O Suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant
.

–Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–85)



Jazz (poem)

Poem TO LOVE

In “Jazz,” from the Atlantic's January 1922 issue, Theodore Maynard contemplates the dancers at a cabaret:
                                                                  Gay
   They were not. They embraced without dismay,
Lovers who showed an awful lack of awe.
Then, as I sat and drank my wine apart,
   I pondered on this new religion, which
   Lay heavily on the face of the rich,
Who, occupied with ritual, never smiled—
Because I heard, within my quiet heart,
Happiness laughing like a little child.
Read more here.



oh yeah...

oh yeah...