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I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers.
— T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land · 1922

Opening lines. An interesting analysis of this poem and of modernism is in the introduction to Why Poetry by Matthew Zapruder.

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Bath

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air. The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the…read more

— Amy Lowell, Men, Women and Ghosts (1916)

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from a book

Pathemata, Or, The Story of My Mouth

The way C knew me died with her; from now on I will be less loved, less known.

— Maggie Nelson, Pathemata, Or, The Story of My Mouth

grieferasure
a poem

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there…read more

— William Butler Yeats, The Countess Kathleen and Various Legends and Lyrics (1892)

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