written by William Carlos WilliamsThere is a bird in the poplars!
It is the sun!
The leaves are little yellow fish
swimming in the river.
The bird skims above them,
day is on his wings.
Phoebus!
It is he that is making
the great gleam among the poplars!
It is his singing
outshines the noise
of leaves clashing in the wind.
William Carlos Williams
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Thu 12.22.2011 at 21:22
Flowers through the window
lavender and yellow
changed by white curtains ?
Smell of cleanliness ?
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Thu 12.15.2011 at 03:46
I
I have discovered that most of
the beauties of travel are due to
the strange hours we keep to see them:
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Sun 12.11.2011 at 16:58
Go to sleep--though of course you will not--
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Thu 12.01.2011 at 22:50
I
Winter is long in this climate
and spring--a matter of a few days
only,--a flower or two picked
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Tue 09.27.2011 at 18:51
are the desolate, dark weeks
when nature in its barrenness
equals the stupidity of man.
The year plunges into night
written by William Carlos Williams, published on Wed 09.07.2011 at 20:40
Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth--nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
