Poem by Marianne Moore

He Made This Screen

not of silver nor of coral,
but of weatherbeaten laurel.

Here, he introduced a sea
uniform like tapestry;

here, a fig-tree; there, a face;
there, a dragon circling space—

designating here, a bower;
there, a pointed passion-flower.

1. Feed Me, Also, River God
2. Pedantic Literalist
3. Diligence Is to Magic as Progress Is to Flight
4. To William Butler Yeats on Tagore
5. “He Wrote the History Book”, It Said

Print

1129 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version