Willa Sibert Cather Poems

In every line a supple beauty -
The restless head a little bent -
Disgust of pleasure, scorn of duty,
The unseeing eyes of discontent.
...

Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town,
An' wander the old ways again, an' tread them up and down.
I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass,
Wi'out I mind how good ye were unto a little lass;
...

THROUGH halls of vanished pleasure,
And hold of vanished power,
And crypt of faith forgotten,
A came to Ludlow tower.
...

IN the tavern of my heart
Many a one has sat before,
Drunk red wine and sung a stave,
And, departing, come no more.
...

'ROWSES, Rowses! Penny a bunch!' they tell you--
Slattern girls in Trafalgar, eager to sell you.
Roses, roses, red in the Kensington sun,
...

'Have you been with the King to Rome,
Brother, big brother?'
'I've been there and I've come home.
...

ACROSS the shimmering meadows--
Ah, when he came to me!
In the spring-time,
...

The old West, the old time,
The old wind singing through
The red, red grass a thousand miles -
And Spanish Johnny, you!
...

IN the gray dust before a frail gray shed,
By a board fence obscenely chalked in red,
A gray creek willow, left from country days,
...

WOE is me to tell it thee,
Winter winds in Arcady!
Scattered is thy flock and fled
From the glades where once it fed,
...