Poems about brow
Forever Of His Profound To Taste
afraid to trust the morn
of his profound to come
without the fear to justify
sometimes not often in eternity
nature and some men
that he loved men
forever of his fate to taste
skill to hold my brow like an earl
and then to lay them quiet back
was he afraid or tranquil
he comes just so far toward the town
In The Fair Schoolroom Of The Suspense
the twilight stood as strangers do
just as the dusk was brown
the morning's amber road
in the fair schoolroom of the sky
and the affairs of june
in face of the suspense
but state with creeping blood
as pride were all it could
but what that place could be
There He Didn't See,
but a leaf that lingered brown,
if design govern in a thing so small,
but were always a rose,
blind creature; and a while he didn't see,
the bridegroom wished he knew,
there he had built his stolen shack,
though doubtful whether he stayed to see,
to seek the brook if still it ran;
to the ancient lands where it left the shells
and thought of doing something to the shore
and brush the mow with the summer load,
up to the brim, and even above the brim,
they turn their back on the land,