Willa Cather Poems

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Arcadian Winter

 WOE is me to tell it thee, 
Winter winds in Arcady! 
Scattered is thy flock and fled 
From the glades where once it fed, 
And the snow lies drifted white 
In the bower of our delight, 
Where the beech threw gracious shade 
On the cheek of boy and maid: 
And the bitter blasts make roar 
Through the fleshless sycamore....Read more of this...

London Roses

 "ROWSES, Rowses! Penny a bunch!" they tell you-- 
Slattern girls in Trafalgar, eager to sell you. 
Roses, roses, red in the Kensington sun, 
Holland Road, High Street, Bayswater, see you and smell you-- 
Roses of London town, red till the summer is done. 


Roses, roses, locust and lilac, perfuming 
West End, East End, wondrously budding and blooming 
Out of...Read more of this...

Paradox

 I KNEW them both upon Miranda's isle, 
Which is of youth a sea-bound seigniory: 
Misshapen Caliban, so seeming vile, 
And Ariel, proud prince of minstrelsy, 
Who did forsake the sunset for my tower 
And like a star above my slumber burned. 
The night was held in silver chains by power 
Of melody, in which all longings yearned-- 
Star-grasping youth...Read more of this...

Poppies On Ludlow Castle

 THROUGH halls of vanished pleasure, 
And hold of vanished power, 
And crypt of faith forgotten, 
A came to Ludlow tower. 

A-top of arch and stairway, 
Of crypt and donjan cell, 
Of council hall, and chamber, 
Of wall, and ditch, and well, 

High over grated turrets 
Where clinging ivies run, 
A thousand scarlet poppies 
Enticed the rising sun, 

Upon the...Read more of this...

The Hawthorn Tree

 ACROSS the shimmering meadows-- 
Ah, when he came to me! 
In the spring-time, 
In the night-time, 
In the starlight, 
Beneath the hawthorn tree. 

Up from the misty marsh-land-- 
Ah, when he climbed to me! 
To my white bower, 
To my sweet rest, 
To my warm breast, 
Beneath the hawthorn tree. 

Ask of me what the birds sang, 
High in...Read more of this...

The Tavern

 IN the tavern of my heart 
Many a one has sat before, 
Drunk red wine and sung a stave, 
And, departing, come no more. 
When the night was cold without, 
And the ravens croaked of storm, 
They have sat them at my hearth, 
Telling me my house was warm. 

As the lute and cup went round, 
They have rhymed...Read more of this...