Evening by H.D.

Evening

BY H. D.

The light passes

from ridge to ridge,

from flower to flower—

the hepaticas, wide-spread

under the light

grow faint—

the petals reach inward,

the blue tips bend

toward the bluer heart

and the flowers are lost.

The cornel-buds are still white,

but shadows dart

from the cornel-roots—

black creeps from root to root,

each leaf

cuts another leaf on the grass,

shadow seeks shadow,

then both leaf

and leaf-shadow are lost.

Descriptive, but, reading the words it seems more. Lovely. A link is here to read more. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/h-d

Garden by H.D.

Garden

BY H. D.

I

You are clear

O rose, cut in rock,

hard as the descent of hail.

I could scrape the colour   

from the petals

like spilt dye from a rock.

If I could break you   

I could break a tree.

If I could stir

I could break a tree—

I could break you.

II

O wind, rend open the heat,   

cut apart the heat,   

rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop   

through this thick air—

fruit cannot fall into heat

that presses up and blunts

the points of pears   

and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat—

plough through it,

turning it on either side   

of your path.

A master of imagery. A link to read more about this poet is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/h-d

The Bungler by Amy Lowell

The Bungler 
by Amy Lowell


You glow in my heart
Like the flames of uncounted candles.
But when I go to warm my hands,
My clumsiness overturns the light,
And then I stumble
Against the tables and chairs.


I like the self depreciating humor in this poem. A link to read more. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Lowell

Opal by Amy Lowell

Opal
by Amy Lowell




You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
the silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.






She really is spectacular in her imagery. I admire her poetry. I have included a link to her bio and some of her additional poems. 
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/435

Queen-Anne's Lace by William Carlos Williams

Queen-Anne's Lace
by William Carlos Williams




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
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. Whenever
his hand has lain there is 
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over-
or nothing. 


I like the imagist poets. They are able to utilize what they see and transform it into poetry.
A link to read more about the poet and more of his poems I have included here.http//www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-carlo-williams