No poem presented with this photograph.
Photo & Poem Gallery
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
A memory of germination, vegetation, and abundance and a harsh symbol of the devastation of climate change.
Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold,
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold...
I build my house of shining glass
light and clear,
delicate. The wind blows
Sets my room to singing.
The sun’s bright rays
are not held back
but pour their radiance through the rooms
in sparkles of delight.
Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
Color of lilac.
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,
I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.
I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was.
Believe in this. Young apple seeds,
In blue skies, radiating young breast,
Not in blue-suited insects,
Infesting society’s garments.
Believe in the swinging sounds of jazz,
Tearing the night into intricate shreds,
This sort of April day inspires madness
Deep aquamarine sky, warm sun tentatively returns.
There’s a crimson tinge to the trees, but
No greenery yet. The tart breeze, its
Insistence, its playful presence, is not