#AmericanWriters
I have whetted my brain until it i… So keen that it nicks off the floa… So sharp that the air would turn i… Were it to be twisted in flight. Licking passions have bitten their…
The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air. The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub...
Red slippers in a shop-window; and outside in the street, flaws of gray, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling li...
The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of… A tree, at the end of my arm, is h… Even so, I can see that it has re… A scarlet fruit,
WHEN night drifts along the stre… And sifts down between the uneven… My mind begins to peek and peer. It plays at ball in old, blue Chi… And shakes wrought dice-cups in P…
Between us leapt a gold and scarle… Into the hollow of the cupped, arc… Of Heaven it rose. Its flickering… And vanished in the sunshine. How… We guessed not, nor what thing cou…
A Minstrel stands on a marble sta… Blown by the bright wind, debonair… Below lies the sea, a sapphire flo… Above on the terrace a turret door Frames a lady, listless and wan,
What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously… Into a pattern? Rather glass that… By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splen…
Frindsbury, Kent, 1786 Bang! Bang! Tap! Tap-a-tap! Rap!
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our h… The end lost in dream, They float past our view,
At first a mere thread of a footpa… Sweeping triumphant across it, it… Whose blossoms were poised above l… While hidden by bloom in a hawthor… It widened a highway, majestic, st…
You —you — Your shadow is sunlight on a plate… Your footsteps, the seeding-place… Your hands moving, a chime of bell… The movement of your hands is the…
Dearest, forgive that with my clum… I broke and bruised your rose. I hardly could suppose It were a thing so fragile that my… Could kill it, thus.
The stars hang thick in the apple… The south wind smells of the punge… Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew… The night’s for you, Sweetheart,… Starfire rains from the vaulted bl…
When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread… When I have picked the green crow… And piled them, cone-pointed, in a… When I have smoothed the seam of…