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Richard Wilbur Short Poems

Famous Short Richard Wilbur Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Richard Wilbur. A collection of the all-time best Richard Wilbur short poems


Riddle  Create an image from this poem
by Richard Wilbur
 Where far in forest I am laid,
In a place ringed around by stones,
Look for no melancholy shade,
And have no thoughts of buried bones;
For I am bodiless and bright,
And fill this glade with sudden glow;
The leaves are washed in under-light;
Shade lies upon the boughs like snow.



by Richard Wilbur
 Dream fluently, still brothers, who when young
Took with your mother's milk the mother tongue,

In which pure matrix, joining world and mind,
You strove to leave some line of verse behind

Like still fresh tracks across a field of snow,
Not reckoning that all could melt and go.

by Richard Wilbur
 A thrush, because I'd been wrong,
Burst rightly into song
In a world not vague, not lonely,
Not governed by me only.

Exeunt  Create an image from this poem
by Richard Wilbur
 Piecemeal the summer dies;
At the field's edge a daisy lives alone;
A last shawl of burning lies
On a gray field-stone.
All cries are thin and terse; The field has droned the summer's final mass; A cricket like a dwindled hearse Crawls from the dry grass.

by Richard Wilbur
 Securely sunning in a forest glade, 
A mild, well-meaning snake
Approved the adaptations he had made
For safety’s sake.
He liked the skin he had— Its mottled camouflage, its look of mail, And was content that he had thought to add A rattling tail.
The tail was not for drumming up a fight; No, nothing of the sort.
And he would only use his poisoned bite As last resort.



by Richard Wilbur
 I read how Quixote in his random ride
Came to a crossing once, and lest he lose
The purity of chance, would not decide

Whither to fare, but wished his horse to choose.
For glory lay wherever turned the fable.
His head was light with pride, his horse's shoes Were heavy, and he headed for the stable.

by Richard Wilbur
 Shall I love God for causing me to be?
I was mere utterance; shall these words love me?

Yet when I caused His work to jar and stammer,
And one free subject loosened all His grammar,

I love Him that He did not in a rage
Once and forever rule me off the page,

But, thinking I might come to please Him yet,
Crossed out 'delete' and wrote His patient 'stet'.

by Richard Wilbur
 It's not the case, though some might wish it so
Who from a window watch the blizzard blow

White riot through their branches vague and stark,
That they keep snug beneath their pelted bark.
They take affliction in until it jells To crystal ice between their frozen cells, And each of them is inwardly a vault Of jewels rigorous and free of fault, Unglimpsed until in May it gently bears A sudden crop of green-pronged solitaires.

by Richard Wilbur
 I.
Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson, break your bones: But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff of stones.
II.
We milk the cow of the world, and as we do We whisper in her ear, 'You are not true.
'