Archibald MacLeish

(7 May 1892 – 20 April 1982 / Glencoe, Illinois)

Archibald MacLeish Poems

1. A Poet Speaks from the Visitors' Gallery 6/22/2015
2. Seafarer 2/7/2014
3. Way-Station 4/7/2010
4. Voyage 4/7/2010
5. The Sheep In The Ruins 4/7/2010
6. De Votre Bonheur Il Ne Reste Que Vos Photos Sipsce… 4/7/2010
7. Ancestral 4/7/2010
8. Before March 4/7/2010
9. Lines For A Prologue 4/7/2010
10. The Silent Slain 4/7/2010
11. Definition Of The Frontiers 4/7/2010
12. Unfinished History 4/7/2010
13. Nocturne 4/7/2010
14. The Night Dream 4/7/2010
15. The Rock In The Sea 4/7/2010
16. L'An Trentiesme De Mon Eage 4/7/2010
17. The Old Men In The Leaf Smoke 4/7/2010
18. Liberty 4/7/2010
19. Immortal Autumn 4/7/2010
20. Invocation To The Social Muse 4/7/2010
21. Broken Promise 4/7/2010
22. Autumn 4/7/2010
23. Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments 4/7/2010
24. Hypocrite Auteur 4/7/2010
25. The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak 4/7/2010
26. The Too-Late Born 1/3/2003
27. Poem In Prose 1/3/2003
28. The Snowflake Which Is Now And Hence Forever 1/3/2003
29. Two Poems From The War 1/3/2003
30. You, Andrew Marvell 1/3/2003
31. Dr. Sigmund Freud Discovers The Sea Shell 1/3/2003
32. Baccalaureate 1/3/2003
33. An Eternity 1/3/2003
34. The End Of The World 1/3/2003
35. Ars Poetica 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Archibald MacLeish

Ars Poetica

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown -

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind -

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs

A poem should be equal to:
Not true

For...

Read the full of Ars Poetica

The Too-Late Born

We too, we too, descending once again
The hills of our own land, we too have heard
Far off --- Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine ---
The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,
The first, the second blast, the failing third,
And with the third turned back and climbed once more
The steep road southward, and heard faint the sound
Of swords, of horses, the disastrous war,
And crossed the dark defile at last, and found

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