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Witter Bynner

Author

Pasture

He had gone away without good-bye, A thing he never would have done; For nobody loved him more than I— Except, perhaps, the sun. And the sun—when I said, "O tell me where!" Though it showed me some open pasture-bars Into the pa [...]

Changes

Changes of light are living things And flit along the brook; On a willow-limb their images Are wounded wings of smoke. Two ways of life make the design, Two behaviours: The brook's way with the sun is mine; The willow's way is yours. You [...]

The Two Windows

OUT of my western window The purple clouds are dying Edged with fire; And out of my eastern window The full round moon is rising Formed of ice. So beautiful, Although the day go by And the night come on forever, Is this momentary worl [...]

Spring at the Door

Spring is a wild thing for sure,— What wilder ever ran! But once in a while he will rub at the door Of almost any man. And here he is at my own sill, Whining for me to know,— Until I peer outside and feel A flurry in the snow, Find a clou [...]

Translator

A View of the Wilderness

Spring 1925 | Poetry

Snow whitens mountains westward and the forts of three cities,
Waters from the southern lakes flash on miles of bridge;
Wind and dust from sea to sea shut me from my brothers;