I like the little poems That hide in little books, Waiting for little snatches In little, cozy nooks. They mind me of the robins, With fragrant whiffs of song, Far dearer than Beethoven, -- But that is very wrong! Perhaps if life in ordered Continuance would run, Not now a bit of shadow And now a bit of sun, -- Perhaps I might, if living Were epic-long and wide, Care less for little poems In little books that hide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO J. D. H. (KILLED AT SURREY C. H., OCTOBER, 1866) by SIDNEY LANIER MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS AUTUMN SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JACOB GODBEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |