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The Poem

by William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams

It's all in
the sound. A song.
Seldom a song. It should

be a song—made of
particulars, wasps,
a gentian—something
immediate, open

scissors, a lady's
eyes—waking
centrifugal, centripetal.




Quotes of the Day

Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.
• Zora Neale Hurston


Poems of the Day
  • James Whitcomb Riley
    Dead Leaves
    by James Whitcomb Riley
    DAWN As though a gipsy maiden with dim look, Sat crooning by the roadside of the year, So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here To read dark fortunes for us from the book