Poems by William Carlos Williams | Poetree

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Portrait Of A Lady

Portrait Of A Lady

Your thighs are appletrees

whose blossoms touch the sky.

Which sky? The sky

where Watteau hung a lady's

slipper. Your knees

are a southern breeze — or

a gust of snow. Agh! what

sort of man was Fragonard?

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by William Carlos Williams

The Shadow

The Shadow

Soft as the bed in the earth

Where a stone has lain—

So soft, so smooth and so cool,

Spring closes me in

With her arms and her hands.

Rich as the smell

Of new earth on a stone,

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by William Carlos Williams

Poem

Poem

As the cat

climbed over

the top of

the jamcloset

first the right

forefoot

carefully

then the hind

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by William Carlos Williams

Spring And All

Spring And All

By the road to the contagious hospital

under the surge of the blue

mottled clouds driven from the

northeast — a cold wind. Beyond, the

waste of broad, muddy fields

brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water

the scattering of tall trees

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by William Carlos Williams

The Artist

The Artist

Mr T.

bareheaded

in a soiled undershirt

his hair standing out

on all sides

stood on his toes

heels together

arms gracefully

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by William Carlos Williams

Sicilian Emigrant’s Song

Sicilian Emigrant’s Song

O—eh—lee! La—la!

Donna! Donna!

Blue is the sky of Palermo;

Blue is the little bay;

And dost thou remember the orange and fig,

The lively sun and the sea breeze at evening?

Hey—la!

Donna! Donna! Maria!

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by William Carlos Williams

The Great Figure

The Great Figure

Among the rain

and lights

I saw the figure 5

in gold

on a red

firetruck

moving

tense

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by William Carlos Williams

Queen-Anne's-Lace

Queen-Anne's-Lace

Her body is not so white as

anemone petals nor so smooth—nor

so remote a thing. It is a field

of the wild carrot taking

the field by force; the grass

does not raise above it.

Here is no question of whiteness,

white as can be, with a purple mole

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by William Carlos Williams

Smell!

Smell!

Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed

nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?

What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose,

always indiscriminate, always unashamed,

and now it is the souring flowers of the bedreggled

poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth

beneath them. With what deep thirst

we quicken our desires

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by William Carlos Williams

Apology

Apology

Why do I write today?

The beauty of

the terrible faces

of our nonentites

stirs me to it:

colored women

day workers—

old and experienced—

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by William Carlos Williams

To Waken An Old Lady

To Waken An Old Lady

Old age is

a flight of small

cheeping birds

skimming

bare trees

above a snow glaze.

Gaining and failing

they are buffeted

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by William Carlos Williams

Winter Trees

Winter Trees

All the complicated details

of the attiring and

the disattiring are completed!

A liquid moon

moves gently among

the long branches.

Thus having prepared their buds

against a sure winter

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by William Carlos Williams