#AmericanWriters
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.
The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.
Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.
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…
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.
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;
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue
Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.
All day, all day I brush My golden strands of hair; All day I wait and wait.. Ah, who is there? Who calls? Who calls? The gold
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,