Navarre Scott Momaday
Angle of Geese
How shall we adorn
Recognition with our speech?—
Now the dead firstborn
Will lag in the wake of words.
We are civil, something more:
More than language means,
The mute presence mulls and marks.
Almost of a mind,
We take measure of the loss;
I am slow to find
The mere margin of repose.
And one November
It was longer in the watch,
As if forever,
Of the huge ancestral goose.
So much symmetry!—
Like the pale angle of time
The great shape labored and fell.
Quit of hope and hurt,
It held a motionless gaze
Wide of time, alert,
On the dark distant flurry.
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Comments about this poem (Angle of Geese by Navarre Scott Momaday )
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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