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“On a Return from Egypt” by Keith Douglas
To stand here in the wings of Europe disheartened, I have come away from the sick land where in the sun lay the gentle sloe-eyed murderers of themselves, exquisites under a curse; here to exercise my...
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“The End” by Mark Strand
Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end, Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end, Or what he shall...
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“Provide, Provide” by Robert Frost
The witch that came (the withered hag) To wash the steps with pail and rag Was once the beauty Abishag, The picture pride of Hollywood. Too many fall from great and good For you to doubt the...
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“Sonogram” by Paul Muldoon
Only a few weeks ago, the sonogram of Jean’s womb resembled nothing so much as a satellite map of Ireland: now the image is so well-defined we can make out not only a hand but a thumb; on the road to...
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“Days” by Philip Larkin
What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days? Ah, solving that question Brings the priest and the doctor...
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“Blackbird” by C.K. Williams
There was nothing I could have done— a flurry of blackbirds burst from the weeds at the edge of a field and one veered out into my wheel and went under. I had a moment to hope he’d emerge as sometimes...
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“The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on...
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For the Time Being
Alone, alone, about a dreadful wood Of conscious evil runs a lost mankind, Dreading to find its Father lest it find The Goodness it has dreaded is not good: Alone, alone, about our dreadful wood. Where...
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“Innocence” by Patrick Kavanaugh
They laughed at one I loved — The triangular hill that hung Under the Big Forth. They said That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges Of the little farm and did not know the world. But I knew that...
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“To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing” by William Butler Yeats
Now all the truth is out, Be secret and take defeat From any brazen throat, For how can you compete, Being honor bred, with one Who were it proved he lies Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his...
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