The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black…
by Dev
While the moon rode over the garden, High in the arch of night, And…
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;…
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,…
You've never laughed Until the world Has been beneath you A mosaic map…
Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow…
Before my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn,…
From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen…
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.…
The low sandy beach and the thin scrub pine, The wide reach of bay and…
