Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,Hang out the washing and butter the bread,Sew on a button and make up a bed.Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking. Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).Dishes are waiting …
The way a crowShook down on meThe dust of snowFrom a hemlock tree Has given my heartA change of moodAnd saved some partOf a day I had rued. I've mentioned before in previous posts that I have a particular love of short poetry. This piece is no different. I think I first read Frost's poem …
"An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom."
Stop, Christian passer-by!—Stop, child of God,And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sodA poet lies, or that which once seemed he.O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.;That he who many a year with toil of breathFound death in life, may here find life in death!Mercy for praise—to be forgiven for fameHe asked, …
This is my letter to the WorldThat never wrote to Me—The simple News that Nature told—With tender Majesty Her Message is committedTo Hands I cannot see—For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—Judge tenderly—of Me Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the World Like most short poetry, this poem is enigmatic and leaves many more questions than it …
Continue reading Poetry: Dickinson – This is my letter to the World
Madelyn Rose Craig 