Sobs ghost-wind on a Little Side Street Of my heart, where joyed of the morning I meet Life and her wares; pomegranates of gold; Hammered missal, and cantos that never grow old— Ghost-like sobs the wind; Orchard's mad waking—incorrigible day Breaking in beauty; under mould-creviced way Of cobble-stone, other springs.. still, Burnishing a waterfall under the hill— Orchard's mad waking. Peopled with dust-motes the Little Side Street; Petals, wind-showered, drenching my feet; Wind-ghost, wavering, from his pack drops a sigh: Crooning, I hold it.. my face to a sky. @2Peopled with dust-motes.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MEN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY AD PATRIAM by CLINTON SCOLLARD THANKS BE TO GOD by JANIE ALFORD THE FROGS: A 'EURIPIDEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES |