#AmericanWriters
White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
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…
Have yet forgot, sweet birds, How near the heaven’s lie? Drooping, sick-pinion’d, oh Have yet forgot the sky? The air that once I knew
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!
Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,
Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
(1) The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew) Remember death.
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…
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
I make my shroud, but no one knows… So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows… In door-way where the lilac blows,
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
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…