#AmericanWriters
A laggard in the rear of time’s sw… And one who loiters on an aimless… Through lands he knows not; lured… In secret paths where silence hold… And rust ascending wings. Roads m…
Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.
To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for m… What matter if her eyes were blue Whose rival is Persephone?
Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
My songs to sell, sweet maid! I pray you buy. Here’s one will win a lady’s tears… Here’s one will make her gay, Here’s one will charm your true lo…
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!
Too far afield thy search. Nay, t… At thine own elbow potent Memory… Thy double, and eternity is cupped In the pale hollow of those ghostl…
Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than
More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue