#AmericanWriters
Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.
For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,
A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,
The poet pursues his beautiful the… The preacher his golden beatitude; And I run after a vanishing dream… The glittering, will-o’-the-wispis… Of the properly scholarly attitude…
JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
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…
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
Hear thou my lamentation, Eros, Aphrodite’s son! My heart is broken and my days are… Where the woods are dark and the s… Eros!
The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.