Poems by William Carlos Williams

All Poems Original Poems Translations

« ‹ 1 2 3 4 5 › »

Slow Movement

All those treasures that lie in the little bolted box whose tiny space is

Mightier than the room of the stars, being secret and filled with dreams:

All those treasures—I hold them in my hand—are straining continually

Against the sides and the lid and the two ends of the little box in which I guard them;

Crying that there is no sun come among them this great while and that they weary of shining;

Calling me to fold back the lid of the little box and to give them sleep finally.

But the night I am hiding from them, dear friend, is far more desperate than their night!

by William Carlos Williams

Approach Of Winter

The half-stripped trees

struck by a wind together,

bending all,

the leaves flutter drily

and refuse to let go

or driven like hail

stream bitterly out to one side

and fall

by William Carlos Williams

A Goodnight

Go to sleep—though of course you will not—

to tideless waves thundering slantwise against

strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray

dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,

scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady

car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls' cries in a wind-gust

broken by the wind; calculating wings set above

the field of waves breaking.

by William Carlos Williams

Willow Poem

It is a willow when summer is over,

a willow by the river

from which no leaf has fallen nor

bitten by the sun

turned orange or crimson.

The leaves cling and grow paler,

swing and grow paler

over the swirling waters of the river

by William Carlos Williams

January Morning

I have discovered that most of

the beauties of travel are due to

the strange hours we keep to see them:

the domes of the Church of

the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

against a smoky dawn — the heart stirred —

are beautiful as Saint Peters

by William Carlos Williams

Dawn

Ecstatic bird songs pound

the hollow vastness of the sky

with metallic clinkings—

beating color up into it

at a far edge,—beating it, beating it

with rising, triumphant ardor,—

stirring it into warmth,

quickening in it a spreading change,—

by William Carlos Williams

Blizzard

Snow falls:

years of anger following

hours that float idly down —

the blizzard

drifts its weight

deeper and deeper for three days

or sixty years, eh? Then

the sun! a clutter of

by William Carlos Williams

Light Hearted Author

The birches are mad with green points

the wood's edge is burning with their green,

burning, seething—No, no, no.

The birches are opening their leaves one

by one. Their delicate leaves unfold cold

and separate, one by one. Slender tassels

hang swaying from the delicate branch tips—

Oh, I cannot say it. There is no word.

by William Carlos Williams

Proletarian Poet

A big young bareheaded woman

in an apron

Her hair slicked back standing

on the street

One stockinged foot toeing

the sidewalk

Her shoe in her hand. Looking

intently into it

by William Carlos Williams

Transitional

First he said:

It is the woman in us

That makes us write—

Let us acknowledge it—

Men would be silent.

We are not men

Therefore we can speak

And be conscious

by William Carlos Williams

Complete Destruction

It was an icy day.

We buried the cat,

then took her box

and set fire to it

in the back yard.

Those fleas that escaped

earth and fire

died by the cold.

by William Carlos Williams

Nantucket

Flowers through the window

lavender and yellow

changed by white curtains –

Smell of cleanliness –

Sunshine of late afternoon –

On the glass tray

a glass pitcher, the tumbler

turned down, by which

by William Carlos Williams