Richard Wilbur Poems

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
...

I.
Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson, break your bones:
But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff of stones.
...

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides
The Queen Anne's Lace lying like lilies
On water; it glides
So from the walker, it turns
...

The tall camels of the spirit
Steer for their deserts, passing the last groves loud
With the sawmill shrill of the locust, to the whole honey of the
arid
...

For Alexander there was no Far East,
Because he thought the Asian continent
India ended. Free Cathay at least
Did not contribute to his discontent.
...

R.Frost 100th B'day

The air was soft, the ground still cold.
In wet dull pastures where I strolled
...

for Rene Magritte

The carpenter's made a hole
In the parlor floor, and I'm standing
...

It's not the case, though some might wish it so
Who from a window watch the blizzard blow

White riot through their branches vague and stark,
...

That flower unseen, that gem of purest ray,
Bright thoughts uncut by men:
Strange that you need but speak them, Thomas Gray,
And the mind skips and dives beyond its ken,
...

Your voice, with clear location of June days,
Called me outside the window.You were there,
Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare
Of uncontested summer all things raise
...