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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346177" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>After The Rain [for W. D. Snodgrass]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The barbed-wire fences rust <br>As their cedar uprights blacken <br>After a night of rain. <br>Some early, innocent lust <br>Gets me outdoors to smell <br>The teasle, the pelted bracken, <br>The cold, mossed-over well, <br>Rank with its iron chain, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And takes me off for a stroll. <br>Wetness has taken over. <br>From drain and creeper twine <br>It’s runnelled and trenched and edged <br>A pebbled serpentine <br>Secretly, as though pledged <br>To attain a difficult goal <br>And join some important river. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The air is a smear of ashes <br>With a cool taste of coins. <br>Stiff among misty washes, <br>The trees are as black as wicks, <br>Silent, detached and old. <br>A pallor undermines <br>Some damp and swollen sticks. <br>The woods are rich with mould. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>How even and pure this light! <br>All things stand on their own, <br>Equal and shadowless, <br>In a world gone pale and neuter, <br>Yet riddled with fresh delight. <br>The heart of every stone <br>Conceals a toad, and the grass <br>Shines with a douse of pewter. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Somewhere a branch rustles <br>With the life of squirrels or birds, <br>Some life that is quick and right. <br>This queer, delicious bareness, <br>This plain, uniform light, <br>In which both elms and thistles, <br>Grass, boulders, even words, <br>Speak for a Spartan fairness, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Might, as I think it over, <br>Speak in a form of signs, <br>If only one could know <br>All of its hidden tricks, <br>Saying that I must go <br>With a cool taste of coins <br>To join some important river, <br>Some damp and swollen Styx. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet what puzzles me the most <br>Is my unwavering taste <br>For these dim, weathery ghosts, <br>And how, from the very first, <br>An early, innocent lust <br>Delighted in such wastes, <br>Sought with a reckless thirst <br>A light so pure and just.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anthony+Evan+Hecht">Anthony Evan Hecht</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346177" data-title="After The Rain [for W. D. Snodgrass] de Anthony Evan Hecht" data-description="The barbed-wire fences rust 
As their cedar uprights blacken 
After a night of rain. 
Some early, innocent lust 
Gets me outdoors to smell 
The teasle, the pelted bracken, 
The cold, mossed-over well, 
Rank with its iron chain, 


And takes me off..."></div>
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