Alfred Kreymborg

(1883-1966 / United States)

Cézanne - Poem by Alfred Kreymborg

Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.
We could not see him.
We might not have heard him either—
Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.
But his step was tremendous—
Are mountains on the march?

He was no man who passed;
But a great faithful horse
Dragging a load
Up the hill.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



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