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,…
Supper comes at five o'clock, At six, the evening star, My lover comes…
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.…
