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Francis Brett Young Poems
- February
The robin on my lawn
He was the first to tell
How, in the frozen dawn,
This miracle befell, ... - Lettermore
These winter days on Lettermore
The brown west wind it sweeps the bay,
And icy rain beats on the bare
Unhomely fields that perish there: ... - Scirocco
Out of that high pavilion
Where the sick, wind-harassed sun
In the whiteness of the day
Ghostly shone and stole away - ... - Song At Santa Cruz
Were there lovers in the lanes of Atlantis:
Meeting lips and twining fingers
In the mild Atlantis springtime?
How should I know ... - Invocation
Whither, O, my sweet mistress, must I follow thee?
For when I hear thy distant footfall nearing,
And wait on thy appearing,
Lo! my lips are silent: no words come to me. ...
