By May Sarton
A finished quantity gathering may well Sarton’s poetry from over sixty years of work
This assortment spanning six many years exposes the allure and readability of Sarton’s poetry to the fullest. prepared in chronological order, it follows the transformation of her writing via a variety of poetic types and types. Her poetry meditates on subject matters together with the yank panorama, getting older, nature, the act of constructing artwork, and self-study. This compendium from considered one of America’s such a lot liked poets will enthrall readers.
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* superbly illustrated with pictures in relation to Shelley’s existence and works
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Extra resources for Collected Poems: 1930-1993
Yes. Oh, what have I done ? It was like a string snapping. Cassie found herself on her feet, staring wildly out at the ocean. Something had happened; she had felt it, and now she could feel the elements receding from her, their connection broken. She no longer felt light and free, but jangled and out of tune and full of static electricity. Suddenly the ocean looked more vast than ever and not necessarily friendly. Turning sharply, she headed back toward the shore. Idiot, she thought as she neared the white sand of the beach again and the frightened feeling slipped away.
Then, wrapping it around her, she started down the beach the way the guy had gone. Two When Cassie got to the place where the boy had turned, she walked up the dunes between the pitiful little clumps of scraggly beach grass. At the top she looked around, but there was nothing to be seen but pitch pines and scrub oak trees. No boy. No dog. Silence. She was hot. All right; fine. She turned back toward the sea, ignoring the twinge of disappointment, the strange emptiness she felt suddenly. She'd go get wet and cool off.
Just one more week, Cassie told herself. Just one more week and I can go home. The very thought filled her with a longing so sharp that tears came to her eyes. Home, where her friends were. Where she didn't feel like a stranger, and unaccomplished, and boring, and stupid just because she didn't know what a quahog was. Where she could laugh about all this: her wonderful vacation on the eastern seaboard. ' But I said, 'No—well, maybe…' " Cassie stared out at the sea. It wasn't that the Cape wasn't beautiful.