Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. Poetry for Teens. Lesson Plans. Resources for Teachers. Academy of American Poets. American Poets Magazine. Poems Find and share the perfect poems.
Nothing Gold Can Stay. Home Burial He saw her from the bottom of the stairs Before she saw him. She was starting down, Looking back over her shoulder at some fear. She took a doubtful step and then undid it To raise herself and look again. He spoke Advancing toward her: 'What is it you see From up there always--for I want to know. He said to gain time: 'What is it you see,' Mounting until she cowered under him.
She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see, Blind creature; and awhile he didn't see. But at last he murmured, 'Oh,' and again, 'Oh. I never noticed it from here before. I must be wonted to it--that's the reason. The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it. Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it? There are three stones of slate and one of marble, Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those. But I understand: it is not the stones, But the child's mound--' 'Don't, don't, don't, don't,' she cried. She withdrew shrinking from beneath his arm That rested on the bannister, and slid downstairs; And turned on him with such a daunting look, He said twice over before he knew himself: 'Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?
Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it! I must get out of here. I must get air. I don't know rightly whether any man can. Don't go to someone else this time. Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs. I don't know how to speak of anything So as to please you. But I might be taught I should suppose. I can't say I see how. A man must partly give up being a man With women-folk. Usually between five and twelve lines in length, the form is briefer than a sonnet but more extensive than an epigram.
The form tries for a more ambitious—and usually less satiric—turn of thought than the epigram, and it does not so neatly resolve itself in witty closure. The form, however, also differs from the sonnet because it does not strive for the complex argument of contrast and resolution so famously found in the fourteen line paradigm. Instead, this type of short poem usually tries to describe a single scene or develop a single idea with evocative finality. These poems also often have an emblematic quality—the images acquire a symbolic resonance and suggest broader meanings.
Every line, every image must meaningfully contribute to the whole. There is no place for a weak word to hide. Such evocative short poems are difficult to write. The poem must be tightly constructed but not so rigidly that its effect feels forced or predetermined. The balance must be perfect. A successful epigram can contentedly proceed as mere verse—memorably turned metrical language—but this slightly longer form strives for the fullness of poetry. Small in size does not limit it to being small in ambition.
Cunningham, Theodore Roethke, X. Kennedy, and Robert Frost. Frost would eventually garner the prize four times—still the record for any American poet.
More Poems by the Author — A selection of poems by Frost, plus a more detailed biography of the poet. A Documentary — A minute documentary, featuring live footage of the author and offering some insight into his life and experiences. Video Biography — A short video biography summarising the poet's life and career highlights. Acquainted with the Night. After Apple-Picking. Dust of Snow. Fire and Ice. Home Burial. Mending Wall. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.
The Oven Bird. The Road Not Taken.
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