Archibald Macleish World Poems

  • 1.
    mon semblable, mon frère
    (1)
    Our epoch takes a voluptuous satisfaction
    In that perspective of the action
    ...
  • 2.
    Think of our blindness where the water burned!
    Are we so certain that those wings, returned
    And turning, we had half discerned
    Before our dazzled eyes had surely seen
    ...
  • 3.
    Science, that simple saint, cannot be bothered
    Figuring what anything is for:
    Enough for her devotions that things are
    And can be contemplated soon as gathered.
    ...
  • 4.
    I speak this poem now with grave and level voice
    In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall.

    I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall
    ...
  • 5.
    A year or two, and grey Euripides,
    And Horace and a Lydia or so,
    And Euclid and the brush of Angelo,
    Darwin on man, Vergilius on bees,
    ...
  • 6.
    These alternate nights and days, these seasons
    Somehow fail to convince me. It seems
    I have the sense of infinity!

    ...
  • 7.
    for Learned and Augustus Hand

    You, my friends, and you strangers, all of you,
    Stand with me a little by the walls
    ...
  • 8.
    THE praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems
    Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes
    Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered
    These were lies
    ...
  • 9.
    Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
    The armless ambidextrian was lighting
    A match between his great and second toe,
    And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
    ...
Total 9 World Poems by Archibald Macleish

Top 10 most used topics by Archibald Macleish

Night 11 Sea 10 Water 10 World 9 Dark 9 Sun 9 Wind 8 Earth 7 Long 7 Light 7

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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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