In candent ire the solar splendor flames;
The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.

Summer Images

© John Clare

Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,

Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;

Sailing Barges off Southend

© Adrian Green

Drifting on a tide from long ago,
They swing at anchor silently
Wreathed in early morning mist,
Like ghosts grown mellow with antiquity.

String Bass

© Adrian Green

Some like to dominate,
others caress
a voluptuous rhythm
on pliant strings.

Small Wire

© Anne Sexton

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider

Some Foreign Letters

© Anne Sexton

I knew you forever and you were always old,
soft white lady of my heart. Surely you would scold
me for sitting up late, reading your letters,
as if these foreign postmarks were meant for me.

Sonnet: Oh! How I Love, On A Fair Summer's Eve

© John Keats

Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,

When streams of light pour down the golden west,

Sonnet 62: "Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye..."

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,

And all my soul, and all my every part;

Sonnet 154: "The little Love-god lying once asleep,..."

The little Love-god lying once asleep,

Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,

Said The Poet To The Analyst

© Anne Sexton

My business is words. Words are like labels,
or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
I confess I am only broken by the sources of things;
as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic,