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Robert Frost
Sea waves are green and wet,
But up from where they die,
Rise others vaster yet,
And those are brown and dry.
They are the sea made land
To come at the fisher town,
And bury in solid sand
The men she could not drown.
She may know cove and cape,
But she does not know mankind
If by any change of shape,
She hopes to cut off mind.
Men left her a ship to sink:
They can leave her a hut as well;
And be but more free to think
For the one more cast off shell.
white bread for dinner
in the house of sleep
my mind groping for the way
through the book in my hands
some great raw nothing
moving within me
my mind full of fears
were it not for our mouth
I would be glad to be rid of it
the river is my mind
night and day business not yet done
picture a hill
picture a frame for the picture
of my itch
of a life
could I understand
what I could not stand
forced to go to bed and give
the night a night
to master my mind
unfounded as a country
made for war
fear finds me out
and brings me a bear
or the desire for order
it burdens my mind that it should be so backward
so unseeing
so nappish
yet I am nothing else
but that now-frozen weather
who could be whole
all alone
and not fight with some
possible faction
in the mystery of
his possible mind
or let his body suffer
another great love
we shall all be sunk
after plundering for imperfections
who having seen a sea
stays at home
busy with dying
in her mind a haze
green and pretty
the perfect hole of a state
should please the Lord
sick with work
is a mind as free as the world
as the hole under my hand
the hole I find myself to be
how sorry is the wolf
to eat a wing
a wolf hard as the mind
to do something with
all out of promise
a rare bee spent
the afternoon being
my mind coming to itself
I dare not reckon myself sure
till I have it in my mind
the rusted table not pretty
my books not neat
the clasp of an hour or two
is brought to a head