LOVE, often your delicate fingers beckon,
And always I follow.Oh, if I could stay, and possess your beauty
Beckoning always!
To Love
About the poet
Max Eastman
1883 - 1969/AmericanMax Eastman was a poet, radical editor, translator, and author. He edited the socialist magazine The Masses (1912-1917) and translated Leon Trotsky into English. Max Forrester Eastman was born on January 4, 1883, the son of two ministers.…
View profile & all 24 Poems / StoriesMore from Max Eastman
Sometimes
SOMETIMES a child's voice crying on the streetComes winging like an arrow through the wind
Autumn Light
SO BRIGHT and soft is the sweet air of morning,And so tenderly the light descends,
Car-Window
A LIGHT is laughing thro' the scattered rain,A color quickens in the meadow;
In a Red Cross Hospital
TODAY I saw a face--it was a beak,That peered, with pale round yellow vapid eyes,
Anniversary
THE flowers we planted in the tender spring,And through the summer watched their blossoming,
