Irving Browne

Poems (3)

• At Shakespeare's Grave

  Dismiss your apprehension, pseudo bard, / For no one wishes to disturb these stones, …

• Man's Pillow

  A baby lying on his mother’s breast / Draws life from that sweet fount; …

• My New World

  my prow is tending toward the west, / Old voices growing faint, dear faces dim, …