“You know, without my telling you, how sometimes a word or name eludes you, and you seek it through running ghosts of shadow -- leaping at it, lying in wait for it to spring upon it, spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound: until, of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest, you hear it, see it flash among the branches, and scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it.” IfsKnowsSometimesRunningLyingNamesWaitingSoundKnowingSpringShadowGhostForestsBranchesFlashPhantomsSnaresEludeElude You Book:Collected Poems Source: Collected Poems
“September is a sweep of dusky, purple asters, a sumac branch swinging a fringe of scarlet leaves, and the bittersweet scene of wild grapes when I walk down the lane to the mailbox. September is a golden month of mellow sunlight and still clear days. ... Small creatures in the grass, as if realizing their days are numbered, cram the night air with sound. Everywhere goldenrod is full out.” IfsStillsNightSoundRealizingWalksClearAirMonthsSceneCreaturesGoldenGrassBranchesSunlightSeptemberPurpleFringeGrapesLanesBittersweetScarletMellowMailboxesSmall CreaturesAstersClear DayGoldenrod Author:Jean Hersey