A Touch of Frost

Clear and Colder - Boston Common

Robert Frost

As I went down through the common,
It was bright with the light of day,
For the wind and rain had swept the leaves
And the shadow of summer away.
The walks were all fresh-blacked with rain
As I went briskly down -
I felt my own quick step begin
The pace of the winter town.

As I went down through the common,
The sky was wild and pale;
I saw one tree with a jib of leaves
In the stress of the aftergale;

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Another September

September 1918
Amy Lowell

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,

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Sumer Is Icumen In

'Tis a beautiful morning in May and I'm grateful for sites like this one.

'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume:
There's crimson buds, and white and blue,
The very rainbow showers
Have turned to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.

- Thomas Hood Read more about Sumer Is Icumen In



I am so haunted by moments of imperfection that I actually dream about them. Last night, for instance. A lovely dream. Rare for me. And then - and then - I screw it up. Some little thoughtless thing that I do earns me disapproval from whoever that was in the dream in whose approval I was basking. Story of my life. So this morning what should the universe send me but this delightful piece from Poetry Daily. Read more about Imperfection