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Theodore Roethke

Winter 1956

Two Poems

By Theodore Roethke

I. I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss?–My lady laughs, delighting in what is. If she but sighs, a bird puts out its tongue. She makes space lonely […]

Summer 1950

Elegy for Jane

By Theodore Roethke

(My student, thrown by a horse) I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile; And how, once startled into talk, the light […]

Summer 1950

A Light Breather

By Theodore Roethke

The spirit moves, Yet stays: Stirs as a blossom stirs, Still wet from its bud-sheath, Slowly unfolding, Turning in the light with its tendrils; Plays as a minnow plays, Tethered […]