#AmericanWriters
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still
In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.
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…
Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;
Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.
Force and bluster? Mighty threate… Scorn I lightly, - Not for these. Tell me when shall great Orion Catch the flying Pleuades?
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I