Penny's Poetry Blog

July in the West DAY A rhythm of reapers; a flashing Of steels in the meadows; a lashing Of sheaves in the wheatlands; a glitter Of g...

T he Mower to the Glow-Worms Ye living lamps, by whose dear light The nightingale does sit so late, And studying all the summer night, ...

The Voice One feather is a bird, I claim; one tree, a wood; In her low voice I heard More than a mortal should; And so I stood apart,...

  Summer Morn in New Hampshire All yesterday it poured, and all night long      I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat Upon the shingled...

To Helen I saw thee once — once only — years ago: I must not say how many — but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-...

Cedros Between the rows of yellowing corn Our patient donkeys paced along, All in the glorious summer morn,                At Cedros. ...

Flying Back In A Dream We ran free, among the trees Out to the open fields Dandelions, fences too We crossed without a trip A fly...