#AmericanWriters
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…
Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
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…
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
‘There’s be no roof to shelter you… You’ll have no where to lay your h… And who will get your food for you… Star-dust pays for no man’s bread. So, Jacky, come give me your fidd…
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…