Anthony Hecht

The Dover Bitch: A Criticism Of Life

So there stood Matthew Arnold and this girl With the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them, And he said to her, “Try to be true to me, And I’ll do the same for

Paradise Lost Book 5: An Epitome

Higgledy piggeldy Archangel Rafael, Speaking of Satan’s re- Bellion from God: “Chap was decidedly Turgiversational, Given to lewdness and Rodomontade.”

Chorus From Oedipus At Colonos

What is unwisdom but the lusting after Longevity: to be old and full of days! For the vast and unremitting tide of years Casts up to view more sorrowful things than joyful; And as


We have set out from here for the sublime Pastures of summer shade and mountain stream; I have no doubt we shall arrive on time. Is all the green of that enameled prime A

Curriculum Vitae

As though it were reluctant to be day, …….Morning deploys a scale …….Of rarities in gray, And winter settles down in its chain-mail, Victorious over legions of gold and red. ……The smokey souls of

A Hill

In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur, I had a vision once – though you understand It was nothing at all like Dante’s, or the visions of saints, And perhaps not a

Lot's Wife

How simple the pleasures of those childhood days, Simple but filled with exquisite satisfactions. The iridescent labyrinth of the spider, Its tethered tensor nest of polygons Puffed by the breeze to a little bellying

Third Avenue In Sunlight

Third Avenue in sunlight. Nature’s error. Already the bars are filled and John is there. Beneath a plentiful lady over the mirror He tilts his glass in the mild mahogany air. I think of

A Letter

I have been wondering What you are thinking about, and by now suppose It is certainly not me. But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering Blood knows what it knows.

More Light! More Light!

For Heinrich Blucher and Hannah Arendt Composed in the Tower before his execution These moving verses, and being brought at that time Painfully to the stake, submitted, declaring thus: “I implore my God to

The Transparent Man

I’m mighty glad to see you, Mrs. Curtis, And thank you very kindly for this visit Especially now when all the others here Are having holiday visitors, and I feel A little conspicuous and

Sarabande On Attaining The Age Of Seventy-Seven

The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour; and behold my head. George Herbert Long gone the smoke-and-pepper childhood smell Of the smoldering immolation of the year, Leaf-strewn in scattered

The End Of The Weekend

A dying firelight slides along the quirt Of the cast iron cowboy where he leans Against my father’s books. The lariat Whirls into darkness. My girl in skin tight jeans Fingers a page of


Against the enormous rocks of a rough coast The ocean rams itself in pitched assault And spastic rage to which there is no halt; Foam-white brigades collapse; but the huge host Has infinite reserves;

Saul And David

It was a villainous spirit, snub-nosed, foul Of breath, thick-taloned and malevolent, That squatted within him wheresoever he went …….And possessed the soul of Saul. There was no peace on pillow or on throne.
Page 1 of 212