English poetry

Poems in English

Dust in the Eyes

If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes Will keep my talk from getting overwise, I’m not the […]

The Star-Splitter

‘You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his […]

Paul’s Wife

To drive Paul out of any lumber camp All that was needed was to say to him, “How is the […]

Hyla Brook

By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either […]

The Sound of the Trees

I wonder about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise […]

The Silken Tent

She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when the sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew […]

An Encounter

ONCE on the kind of day called “weather breeder,” When the heat slowly hazes and the sun By its own […]

A Cliff Dwelling

There sandy seems the golden sky And golden seems the sandy plain. No habitation meets the eye Unless in the […]

The Generations of Men

A governor it was proclaimed this time, When all who would come seeking in New Hampshire Ancestral memories might come […]

Pan with Us

Pan came out of the woods one day, His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray, The gray […]

The Fear

A lantern light from deeper in the barn Shone on a man and woman in the door And threw their […]

The Cow In Apple-Time

Something inspires the only cow of late To make no more of a wall than an open gate, And think […]

The Vantage Point

If tired of trees I seek again mankind, Well I know where to hie me in the dawn, To a […]

Place for a Third

Nothing to say to all those marriages! She had made three herself to three of his. The score was even […]

The Lockless Door

It went many years, But at last came a knock, And I though of the door With no lock to […]

The Code

There were three in the meadow by the brook Gathering up windrows, piling cocks of hay, With an eye always […]


The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung And cut a flower beside a ground bird’s nest Before it stained a single […]


There was never a sound beside the wood but one, And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground. […]

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