I don’t associate the sprawling, social, brilliant mind of novelist Edith Wharton with haiku. But she did try her hand it.
From an article on the preservation of Wharton’s house:
But there are certain items in the house that did once belong to Wharton: specifically, her books. Nynke Dorhout, the Mount’s librarian, got starry-eyed while talking about them, holding up this volume and that to point out doodles on the end papers and interesting dedications.
And then there are the notes she made in her copy of Sages et poètes d’Asie by Paul-Louis Couchoud. Evidently this book introduced Wharton to the rhythm of the haiku, or else showed it to her in such a way that she was newly able to grasp it. For on the flyleaves, Wharton scribbled a few early attempts. She chose easy subjects, but there is a lot of delight to be found in a poem like:
My little old dog
A heart beat
At my feet.
Thanks to Michael G. Smith, who spotted this and sent it to me.