Richard Wilbur

(March 1, 1921)

Richard Wilbur Poems

1. A Baroque Wall-Fountain in the Villa Sciarra 6/3/2016
2. A Barred Owl 6/3/2016
3. After the Last Bulletins 6/3/2016
4. Junk 6/3/2016
5. Looking into History 6/3/2016
6. Lying 6/3/2016
7. Still, Citizen Sparrow 6/3/2016
8. Praise In Summer 6/7/2016
9. Ceremony 6/3/2016
10. For C. 6/3/2016
11. The Death Of A Toad 12/16/2014
12. The House 3/18/2015
13. Two Voices In A Meadow 4/4/2012
14. Year's End 12/10/2015
15. The Prisoner Of Zenda 1/3/2003
16. Puritans 1/3/2003
17. Transit 1/3/2003
18. Having Misidentified A Wild-Flower 1/3/2003
19. To The Etruscan Poets 1/3/2003
20. The Riddle 1/3/2003
21. The Ride 1/3/2003
22. Matthew Viii,28 Ff. 1/3/2003
23. Riddle 1/3/2003
24. Shame 1/3/2003
25. Exeunt 1/3/2003
26. June Light 1/20/2003
27. In The Smoking Car 1/3/2003
28. Orchard Trees, January 1/3/2003
29. A Hole In The Floor 1/13/2003
30. March 26, 1974 1/3/2003
31. Worlds 1/3/2003
32. Museum Piece 1/3/2003
33. In A Churchyard 6/29/2003
34. For K.R. On Her Sixtieth Birthday 1/3/2003
35. Epistemology 8/12/2003
36. A World Without Objects Is A Sensible Emptiness 6/23/2003
37. Advice To A Prophet 1/3/2003
38. A Fire-Truck 1/13/2003
39. Wedding Toast 1/3/2003
40. The Beautiful Changes 7/3/2003
Best Poem of Richard Wilbur

Boy At The Window

Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare
A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where
The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes
Returns him such a God-forsaken stare
As outcast Adam gave to paradise.

The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,
Having no wish to go inside and die.
Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.
Though frozen water is his element,
He melts enough to drop from one soft eye
A trickle of the purest rain, a ...

Read the full of Boy At The Window

Advice To A Prophet

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city,
Mad-eyed from stating the obvious,
Not proclaiming our fall but begging us
In God's name to have self-pity,

Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range,
The long numbers that rocket the mind;
Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind,
Unable to fear what is too strange.

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