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Edith Wharton

A Poem by Edith Wharton: The Sonnet

  The Sonnet PURE form, that like some chalice of old time Contain’st the liquid of the poet’s thought Within thy curving hollow, gem-enwrought With interwoven traceries of rhyme, While o’er thy brim the bubbling fancies climb, What thing am ...

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A Poem by Edith Wharton: Phaedra

  Phaedra NOT that on me the Cyprian fury fell, Last martyr of my love-ensanguined race; Not that my children drop the averted face When my name shames the silence; not that hell Holds me where nevermore his glance shall ...

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A Poem by Edith Wharton : Non Dolet

Non Dolet! Age after age the fruit of knowledge falls To ashes on men’s lips; Love fails, faith sickens, like a dying tree Life sheds its dreams that no new spring recalls; The longed-for ships Come empty home or founder ...

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