#AmericanWriters
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
When I was girl by Nilus stream I watched the deserts stars arise; My lover, he who dreamed the Sphi… Learned all his dreaming from eyes… I bore in Greece a burning name,
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
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.
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
A laggard in the rear of time’s sw… And one who loiters on an aimless… Through lands he knows not; lured… In secret paths where silence hold… And rust ascending wings. Roads m…
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;
The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!
The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!
Ere the horne’d owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there sh… Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away,
The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
How can you lie so still? All day… And never a blade of all the green… To show where restlessly you toss… And fling a desperate arm or draw… Stiffened and aching from their lo…