Edgar Lee Masters

Jan 27, 2024 | poets.org | John Donne |Henry David Thoreau |Edgar Lee Masters

Skip to main contentFind and share the perfect poems. I scarce believe my love to be so pure    As I had thought it was,    Because it doth endure Vicissitude, and season, as the grasse; Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore, My love was infinite, if spring make’it more.

Aug 23, 2023 | poetryfoundation.org | Edgar Lee Masters

Ye aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown Who lies here with no stone to mark the place. As a boy reckless and wanton, Wandering with gun in hand through the forest Near the mansion of Aaron Hatfield, I shot a hawk perched on the top Of a dead tree. He fell with guttural cry At my feet, his wing broken. Then I put him in a cage Where he lived many days cawing angrily at me When I offered him food.