Spring 1962 • Vol. XXIV No. 2 Poetry |

Slepynge Long in Greet Quiete Is Eek a Greet Norice to Leccherie

for Norman and Midge Sunk earlier in the silence of gray cashmere   Muffler, the clock had only grown alarmed After my three long burials in the sweet, cool   Fields of sheet; and appalled after the huge And sudden drumlin stood up in the blanket, Big   Ben held up both his hands, surrendered and Stopped. I slept on, turned, snorted, flushed, formed new prairies,   Opened a diffident eye, blinked, and felt Impingements of the cold upon the frosty eye   My room turned toward the shining sun, now high Above the harsh, cold fields of sleet outside. Around   The room my mirror saw no evil, swung Upward, reflecting white permissive fields of ceiling,   Its gaze averted from me and from keys (One missing), change, two hankies, scurfy comb and things   Spread on the mote-collecting bureau top Below. I turned again, and subterranean   Stiffening made its mark outside, and when There seemed no help for it, the steps outside the door   Quickened, an

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John Hollander was the author of numerous books of poetry. His first, A Crackling of Thorns, was chosen by W.H. Auden as the 1958 volume in the Yale Series of Younger Poets. He also wrote criticism, including the award-winning Rhyme's Reason: A Guide to English Verse and The Work of Poetry, and edited or coedited twenty-two collections, among them The Oxford Anthology of English Literature, and American Poetry: The Nineteenth Century. Before his death in August, 2013 he was Sterling Professor emeritus of English at Yale University.

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