It sifts from Leaden Sieves By Emily Dickinson

abstract art background blue sky

December’s poem is by Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickinson was so clever. She wrote an entire poem about snow without ever mentioning the word “snow.” Grab your cup of tea and enjoy reading this winter poem. (PS. (October and November poems here.)

It sifts from Leaden Sieves
By Emily Dickinson

It sifts from Leaden Sieves –
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road –
It makes an even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain –
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again –
It reaches to the Fence –
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces –
It deals Celestial Vail
To Stump, and Stack – and Stem –
A Summer’s empty Room –
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them –
It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen –
Then stills it’s Artisans – like Ghosts –
Denying they have been –

 

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November by Thomas Hood

yellow leaf

Since I posted a poem last month, it’s only fair we read another poem for November. I think this one is witty and sarcastic, but in a nice way. Let me know your thoughts.

November by Thomas Hood

No sun — no moon!
No morn
— no noon
No dawn
— no dusk — no proper time of day.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds!

November!

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To My Dear and Loving Husband by Anne Bradstreet

 

midsection of woman making heart shape with hands
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I thought today would be a nice day for a poem. This poem, by Anne Bradstreet, is short and sweet. Plus, it makes me think of my husband.

Feel free to share your favorite poem in the comments.

Enjoy! xoxo, Jane

If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold, Or all the rich.png

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.