|
|
|
|
Lunar Paraphrase
The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.
When, at the wearier end of November,
Her old light moves along the branches,
Feebly, slowly, depending upon them;
When the body of Jesus hangs in a pallor,
Humanly near, and the figure of Mary,
Touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter
Made by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;
When over the houses, a golden illusion
Brings back an earlier season of quiet
And quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness-
The moon is the mother of pathos and pity.
|
|
|
Today's poem is in the public domain.
|
|
|
|
|
Born in Reading, Pennsylvania in 1879, Wallace Stevens was both a major American poet as well as the vice president of Hartford Accident and Indemnity Co.
|
|
Poem-A-Day started as a National Poetry Month program in 2006, delivering daily poems from newly-published poetry titles.
Due to popular demand, Poem-A-Day became a year-round program in 2010, featuring original, never-before-published poems by contemporary poets on weekdays, and classic poems on weekends.
Browse the Poem-A-Day archive for selections since 2010.
|
|
| Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem In Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org. |
|
|
|
|
|
