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Poems About Fog

Table of Contents

  1. Gray Fog by Sara Teasdale
  2. White Fog by Sara Teasdale
  3. Fog by Carl Sandburg
  4. Mist by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  5. The Fog by Anonymous
  6. The Fog by Esther M. Clark

  1. Gray Fog

    by Sara Teasdale

    A fog drifts in, the heavy laden
    Cold white ghost of the sea—
    One by one the hills go out,
    The road and the pepper-tree.

    I watch the fog float in at the window
    With the whole world gone blind,
    Everything, even my longing, drowses,
    Even the thoughts in my mind.

    I put my head on my hands before me,
    There is nothing left to be done or said,
    There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
    And heavy as the dead.

  2. White Fog

    by Sara Teasdale

    Heaven-invading hills are drowned
    In wide moving waves of mist,
    Phlox before my door are wound
    In dripping wreaths of amethyst.

    Ten feet away the solid earth
    Changes into melting cloud,
    There is a hush of pain and mirth,
    No bird has heart to speak aloud.

    Here in a world without a sky,
    Without the ground, without the sea,
    The one unchanging thing is I,
    Myself remains to comfort me.

  3. Fog

    by Carl Sandburg

    The fog comes
    on little cat feet.

    It sits looking
    over harbor and city
    on silent haunches
    and then moves on.

  4. Mist

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Its hand compassionate guards our restless sight
    Against how many a harshness, many an ill!
    Tender as sleep, its shadowy palms distil
    Weird vapors that ensnare our eyes with light.
    Rash eyes, kept ignorant in their own despite,
    It lets not see the unsightliness they will,
    But paints each scanty fairness fairer still,
    And still deludes us to our own delight.

    It fades, regathers, never quite dissolves.
    And ah that life, ah that the heart and brain
    Might keep their mist and glamour, not to know
    So soon the disenchantment and the pain!
    But one by one our dear illusions go,
    Stript and cast forth as time's slow wheel revolves.

  5. The Fog

    by Anonymous

    It lies dim and cold on the face of the mould,
    Like a smile on the lips of the dead.
    As chill and as white, as dense and as light
    As the winding-sheet laid in the still of the night
    Over the funeral bed.

    No pulse seems to throb, no voice dares to sob
    Beneath the grey calm of the cloud.
    A hush holds the air with pale bands of despair,
    Too close to be pierced by a curse or a prayer—
    The hush of a soul in its shroud.

    No stars in the sky; no lights low or high;
    No laughter; no weeping no breath;
    No murmur, no sound in the whole world around,
    But a silence that lies blank and chill on the ground,
    Like the visible presence of Death.

    No murmur. No sound. Only white on the ground
    There creeps the thin silence along—
    Creeps near and more near,—oh, so dim! oh, so drear!
    Till I shiver, as one who has stood by a bier,
    And the words die away in my song.

  6. The Fog

    by Esther M. Clark

    The gray world, the gray world,
    That clouds the face of Spring,
    That clothes in nebulous white shrouds
    Each near, familiar thing—
    Even the river's voice sounds strange,
    Sullenly murmuring.

    No warm light finds the gray world,
    Of filmy mists and spray;
    The clinging beauty of the fog
    Has shut the hills away;
    God's living sun has died and left
    This lovely wraith of Day.

    The gray world, the ghost world,—
    The winds lie as they list,
    While Spring comes shyly veiled in gray
    To keep her April tryst.
    O you who died before this day,
    What loveliness you missed!