William De Witt Snodgrass
William De Witt Snodgrass Poems
|1.||Matisse: 'The Red Studio'||9/30/2015|
|2.||Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring (1 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|3.||Vuillard: “the Mother And Sister Of The Artist”||1/3/2012|
|5.||The Campus On The Hill||1/3/2012|
|6.||The Poet Ridiculed By Hysterical Academics||1/3/2012|
|8.||Magda Goebbels (30 April 1945)||1/3/2012|
|9.||A Locked House||1/3/2012|
|10.||Who Steals My Good Name||1/3/2012|
|13.||After Experience Taught Me ...||1/3/2012|
|14.||Monet: “les Nymphéas”||1/3/2012|
Comments about William De Witt Snodgrass
The green catalpa tree has turned
All white; the cherry blooms once more.
In one whole year I haven't learned
A blessed thing they pay you for.
The blossoms snow down in my hair;
The trees and I will soon be bare.
The trees have more than I to spare.
The sleek, expensive girls I teach,
Younger and pinker every year,
Bloom gradually out of reach.
The pear tree lets its petals drop
Like dandruff on a tabletop.
The girls have grown so young by now
I have to nudge myself to stare.
This year they smile and mind me how
My teeth are falling with my...
A Locked House
As we drove back, crossing the hill,
The house still
Hidden in the trees, I always thought—
A fool’s fear—that it might have caught
Fire, someone could have broken in.
As if things must have been
Too good here. Still, we always found
It locked tight, safe and sound.