And, nightmares remind me of mirrors and mirrors of Tennyson and Tennyson of the (fatal yet) essential moment in which she turns and looks directly at the world.
from The Lady of Shalott / by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With a steady stony glance—
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenance —
She look’d down to Camelot.
Back to the birds.
from The Windhover / by Gerard Manley Hopkins
My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
from Paradise Lost / by John Milton
Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
Sighing through all the works gave signs of woe,
That all was lost.
Love the little birds and all the art that follows them.
from John James Audubon / by Stephen Vincent Benét
Let the wind blow hot or cold,
Let it rain or snow,
Everywhere the birds went
Audubon would go.
For President’s Day, from his book, The Poems of Abraham Lincoln.
from My Childhood Home I See Again / by Abraham Lincoln
My childhood home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There’s pleasure in it too.
From her signature poem. And, fathers and daughters.
from Supernatural Love / by Gjertrud Schnackenberg
My father puzzles why
It is my habit to identify
Carnations as “Christ’s flowers,” knowing I
Can give no explanation but “Because.”
Brothers and sisters. And, snow.
from Wind Wrapped in Snow / by Debora Greger
Snowflake, you’re out
with no coat. Listen. Stand still.
No one is calling
across a world half-buried in snow,
Come back, you hear me,
Come back this instant, you forgot —