#AmericanWriters
He comes from Mass early in the m… The sky’s the very blue Madonna w… The air’s alive with gold! Mark y… The birds sing and the dusted shim… On leaf and fruit?..Per Bacco, wh…
Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
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…
I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…
Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,
Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly’… Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!
Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?