Frederic Prokosch

The farm near Dolya. The pool, and the ducks floating upon it, all snowy white except for the one with the iridescent purple head and the clean gray wings, the bright and knowing eyes, his own pet. The scents of summer, and the little tumbledown summ [...]

It rises, over the deep it rises, roving Through the sea-sleeping men, Strewing the broken bones of men; and moving Again, again, Drowned hearts of men into the second motion Not the lost motion of blood, It moves, and blows into the inner ocean [...]

If, being alone, on any evening you should follow Over the hill This quiet path, which now seems so completely mellow, Completely still, Remember that I warned you once; and then remember That there have been Among those ilexes and ashes, where an em [...]

Making the land more white, more wide, Winter has come and slid a slight Cold sword into my less cold side Slowly, and made the land more white, Closer about me, and made place In me for what alone is white Till even your hand and hair and face Gleam [...]

FOLLOW this path, though not too blindly, and follow Past the last half-lit sleeping cottage slowly This nettle edged road. Go over the hill. Slowly Pursue the trail of the last dusk-tainted swallow Toward the clump of moth-haunted, forsaken Junipers [...]

Rocking-Chair She lived in the valley beneath a low gray hill, With the long fields beyond. Those few who came Found her always sitting there, sullen, still, Gazing far over the wheat, always the same Red scarf over her broad shoulders, and he [...]

Far back as men remember, these old trees Have stood here, bearing year after brief year Their small distorted fruits; in the dark breeze Rides the ripe smell of apples, and a fear That comes on people when they visit here. A mossy rot hangs ove [...]