poet Richard Wilbur

Richard Wilbur

#171 on top 500 poets

In The Smoking Car

The eyelids meet. He'll catch a little nap.
The grizzled, crew-cut head drops to his chest.
It shakes above the briefcase on his lap.
Close voices breathe, "Poor sweet, he did his best."

"Poor sweet, poor sweet," the bird-hushed glades repeat,
Through which in quiet pomp his litter goes,
Carried by native girls with naked feet.
A sighing stream concurs in his repose.

Could he but think, he might recall to mind
The righteous mutiny or sudden gale
That beached him here; the dear ones left behind . . .
So near the ending, he forgets the tale.

Were he to lift his eyelids now, he might
Behold his maiden porters, brown and bare.
But even here he has no appetite.
It is enough to know that they are there.

Enough that now a honeyed music swells,
The gentle, mossed declivities begin,
And the whole air is full of flower-smells.
Failure, the longed-for valley, takes him in.

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

Rating Card

3,1 out of 5
19 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about In The Smoking Car by Richard Wilbur

  • IMYOURMUMFAG (7/21/2020 6:40:00 PM)

    Bro is this poem all it said was " I drove a car last night" Bro like drive it of a cliff has more detail atleast

    Report Reply
    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.

Rating Card

3,1 out of 5
19 total ratings
rate this poem



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: car, flower, music, beach, girl