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About this poet

Helen Hoyt was born in Norwalk, Connecticut, in 1887 and received her AB from Barnard College in 1909. She worked as the associate editor of Poetry magazine and authored several poetry collections, including Poems of Amis (R. J. Hoffmann, 1946), The Name of a Rose (Helen Gentry, 1931), Leaves of Wild Grape (Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1929), and Apples Here in My Basket (Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1924). She died in Saint Helena, California, in 1972.

Action Poem

A Song to Wake Your Dear in the Morning

I kiss the locks of your hair:
Do you feel me there,
Sleepy one?

I will put a kiss on your brow:
Are you waking now?
Won't you wake, sleepy one?

A kiss on your left eye; on your right—
Closed tight, closed tight!
Oh, you are a hard one to wake!

A kiss on your nose
Where your deep breath goes,
Sleepy one!

Now a kiss for each ear:
Do you hear, do you hear?
Wake, sleepy one!

A kiss for this cheek; a kiss for this:
How many kisses you will miss!
Won't you wake?    Won't you wake?

Now I come to your lips that I love:
Oh, you are waking!    You wake and move!
Sleepy one!

Sleepy one,
My kisses are done.
Oh, you are a hard one to wake!

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

Helen Hoyt

Helen Hoyt

Helen Hoyt was born in Norwalk, Connecticut, in 1887 and received her AB from Barnard College in 1909. She worked as the associate editor of Poetry magazine and authored several poetry collections, including Poems of Amis (R. J. Hoffmann, 1946), The Name of a Rose (Helen Gentry, 1931), Leaves of Wild Grape (Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1929), and Apples Here in My Basket (Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1924). She died in Saint Helena, California, in 1972.

by this poet

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Do not fear.
The garden is yours
And it is yours to gather the fruits
And every flower of every kind,
And to set the high wall about it
And the closed gates.
The gates of your wall no hand shall open,
Not feet shall pass,
Through all the days until your return.
Do not

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Once you were always calling me,
Calling me when I could not answer,
Urging me where I could not follow—
So that I wished I had been born without desire,
As a stone.

But now many days you have left me.
And in the silence I have learned your meaning.

For a part of me is gone when

poem

O yes, you are very cunning,
I can see that:
Out there in the snow with your red cart
And your wooly grey coat
And those ridiculous
Little grey leggings!
Like a rabbit,
A demure brownie.
O yes, you are cunning;
But do not think you will escape your father and mother