#AmericanWriters
Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…
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…
And the centurion who stood by sai… Truly this was a son of God. Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy… Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclips…
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
Guardian Of The Treasure Of Sol… And Keeper Of the Prophet’s Armo… My tent A vapour that The wind dispels and but
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…
(Girl’s Song) In Babylon, in Nineveh, And long ago, and far away, The lilies and the lotus blew That are my sweet of youth to-day.
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…
Have yet forgot, sweet birds, How near the heaven’s lie? Drooping, sick-pinion’d, oh Have yet forgot the sky? The air that once I knew