#AmericanWriters
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
Three grey women walk with me Fate and Grief and Memory. My fate brought grief; my grief mu… With me through Eternity, Such thy power, memory.
Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.
Was it love breathed on us as on t… Dawn breathes for a short space an… Or loved we never at all who but m… With too dim vision the guarded my… Were we unfaithful or were we unwi…
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.