Winter 1952 • Vol. XIV No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1952 |

Old Lady’s Winter Words

To seize, to seize-- I know that dream. Now my ardors sleep in a sleeve. My eyes have forgotten. Like the half-dead, I hug my last secrets. O for some minstrel of what's to be, A bird singing into the beyond, The marrow of God, talking, Full merry, a gleam Gracious and bland, On a bright stone. Somewhere, among the ferns and birds, The great swamps flash.I would hold high converse Where the winds gather, And leap over my eye, An old woman Jumping in her shoes. If only I could remember The shy ecstasies of half-knowledge, The interior meltings, the ravishings, The white grass bending away, The doors swinging open, The smells, the moment of hay-- When I went to sea in a sigh, In a boat of beautiful things. The good day has gone: The fair house, the high Elm swinging around With its deep shade, and birds. I have listened close For the thin sound at evening In the windy chimney, The fall of the last ash From the dying ember. I've become a sentry of small seeds, Poking alone in my garden

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Two Poems

By Theodore Roethke

To seize, to seize-- I know that dream. Now my ardors sleep in a sleeve. My eyes have forgotten. Like the half-dead, I hug my last secrets. O for some […]

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