Poems by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

Poems by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

Attainment, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

To reach the top you strove;
You only saw brown earth that backward swept
Beneath your feet;
...

Autumn, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

Spring, teasing cumbrous Winter from her place,
First charms me with her ever changing face,
...

Confidante, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

I who walk in the dark,
Alone beyond all knowing,
Must watch tonight
Glad, sheltered light
...

Dawn, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

At the feet of his lady the moon
Lies the night,
Aquiver and breathless and bright
With the l...

A Draught So Precious, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

A draught so precious you have offered me
I dare not lift it now and take my fill,
Lest I shou...

Evening, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

When Evening first, rising from day-long rest,
Cups her slow hands 'round Day's too dazzling l...

The Funeral, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

When I am dead
Lay me not straitly on a lidded bed,
A dark cell, satin walled--
(Satin has a...

Hurt Not My Heart With Too Much Beauty, Night, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

Hurt not my heart with too much beauty, night,
Asleep along the moon-gold fields of snow
That...

I Am At Rest In You, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

I am at rest in you as housetops drowned
In mistless moonlight, when no wind creeps free
To bl...

I Found No Beauty In Me Till You Came, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

I found no beauty in me till you came,
And then I only wondered, sometimes, why
After brief ...

In Other Springs, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

In other springs, before I knew your love,
Skies were as blue, as fragrant new cut grass;
A...

Intrusion, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

The very soul of beauty I had caught
In my two hands, a shimmering, fluttering thing,
I wors...

Love Songs, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

I There are some things too wonderful to tell:
Sunset, red-gold across a waveless sea,
From...

Mid Winter, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

If I were God, I'd mould hills rolling low,
Smooth them and shape them, sift them deep with s...

The Return, 1918, by Carolyn Crosby Wilson

Flowers are on the mantle; in the grate
A new fire crackles; there's a table bright
With a brid...