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Autumn 1941 • Vol. III No. 4 • Younger Poets |

A Winter Shore

By Reed Whittemore

1.

What the sea does winters,
What to summer’s wreck,
It does well.
     What old hull is
Not borne under, swept bare,
Shattered, buried in the sand,
A broken shell?
     Winter has
No other undertow like this,
The sea. No other burial
Makes skeletons so fast.

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Three Poems

By Jean Garrigue

I.From Venice was that afternoonThough our own land’s canal we viewed.There willows clove the bluish heatBy dropping leaf or two, gold green,And every tuft of hill beyondStood bright, distinct, as […]

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