Chinoiseries - Hoar-frost

by Amy Lowell (1874–1925) English

In the cloud-gray mornings
I head the herons flying;
And when I came into my garden,
My silken outer-garment
Trailed over withered leaves.
A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,
But I have seen many Autumns
With herons blowing like smoke
Across the sky.

Source: Bartleby.com (archived copy)

More poems by Amy Lowell

1777

I—the trumpet-vine ARBOR
THE THROATS of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open,
And the clangor of brass beats against the hot sunlight. …
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See! I give myself to you, Beloved!
My words are little jars
For you to take and put upon a shelf. …
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All poems by Amy Lowell → · More English poems →

Chinoiseries - Hoar-frost

More poems by Amy Lowell

1777

A Gift

A Lady

Apology