What plummet, seas, to sound you—All the long reaches spun out silver-white,Turn you and cast drowned riches?Or how again, O velvet night,When the sky, stooping with its glittering load,About the elf-locks of the curious grassScatters its sparklings, will you part almostUpon the quintessential host?Or how the figment spirit sleepingCan it render body, ghost,In its dream unseat the heavy monarch,Conjure to the bleak wild coastIts sunk, its deep delight,Its night and mist divide, recall how flittingAbove the pallid thing,Joy has an azure wing?
The Mystyerious Thing
About the poet
Leonie Adams
1899-1988/AmericanLeonie Adams was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1899. The fifth of six children. She was brought up in a strict home. She was not allowed to ride the subway until she was 18, and then only while her father accompanied her. Leonie graduated f…
View profile & all 19 Poems / StoriesMore from Leonie Adams
Lullaby
Hush, lullay.Your treasures allEncrust with rust,Your trinket pleasures fall To dust.Beneath the sapphire arch,Upon the grassy floor,Is nothing more To hold,And play is over-old.Your eyes In sleepy fever gleam,Their lids droop To their dream.You wander late alone,The flesh frets on the bone,Your love fails in your breast,Here is the pillow.Rest.
Sundown
This is the time lean woods shall spendA steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
Country Summer
Now the rich cherry, whose sleek wood,And top with silver petals traced
Magnificat In Little
I was enriched, not casting after marvels,But as one walking in a usual place,
Dirge At The Edge Of Woods
Gold shed upon suckling gold,The time of the bole blackens,
