#AmericanWriters
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?
The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
Three grey women walk with me Fate and Grief and Memory. My fate brought grief; my grief mu… With me through Eternity, Such thy power, memory.
Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and
The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.
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…
Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue
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…
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
Peter stands by the gate, And Michael by the throne. ‘Peter, I would pass the gate And come before the throne.’ ‘Whose spirit prayed never at the…
Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy feet as willing-light Run through Paradise, I wonder, As they run the blue skies under, Willing feet, so airy-light?