#AmericanWriters
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
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
With swift Great sweep of her Magnificent arm my pain Clanged back the doors that shut m… From life.
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…
JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
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…
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast; Oh they were fain to rest,
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…
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.