Elinor Morton Wylie

(7 September 1885 – 16 December 1928 / Somerville, New Jersey)

Elinor Morton Wylie Poems

1. Bronze Trumpets And Sea Water - On Turning Latin Into English 1/3/2003
2. The Prinkin' Leddie 1/3/2003
3. Nadir 1/3/2003
4. Venetian Interior 1/3/2003
5. Les Lauriers Sont Coupée 1/3/2003
6. The Poor Old Cannon 1/3/2003
7. The Church-Bell 1/3/2003
8. The Tortoise In Eternity 1/3/2003
9. Spring Pastoral 1/3/2003
10. Parting Gift 4/15/2016
11. Valentine 1/3/2003
12. Curious Circumstance 1/3/2003
13. Nancy 1/3/2003
14. Primavera In The North 1/3/2003
15. A Crowded Trolley-Car 1/3/2003
16. Blood Feud 1/3/2003
17. August 1/3/2003
18. Sunset On The Spire 1/3/2003
19. The Falcon 1/3/2003
20. The Crooked Stick 1/3/2003
21. The Pekingese 1/3/2003
22. Prophecy 1/3/2003
23. Silver Filigree 1/3/2003
24. Sanctuary 1/3/2003
25. Atavism 1/3/2003
26. Quarrel 1/3/2003
27. Poor Earth 1/3/2003
28. A Proud Lady 1/3/2003
29. The Child On The Curbstone 1/3/2003
30. Ophelia 1/3/2003
31. The Lost Path 1/3/2003
32. The Fairy Goldsmith 1/3/2003
33. Bells In The Rain 1/3/2003
34. Cold-Blooded Creatures 1/3/2003
35. Winter Sleep 1/3/2003
36. Village Mystery 1/3/2003
37. Escape 1/3/2003
38. Little Joke 1/3/2003
39. Love Song 1/3/2003
40. The Eagle And The Mole 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Elinor Morton Wylie

Pretty Words

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied ...

Read the full of Pretty Words

The Crooked Stick

First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust?
Second Traveller: A crooked stick.
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic?
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle?
First Traveller: No, a trick.
Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies.
First Traveller: Wait; count ten;
Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
Now, look again.

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