#AmericanWriters
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mar… from a village miles away, all day… far roaming. I cannot walk as ligh… I am heavier than I was. Mary Mo… Beautiful Holy Lady, take my sham…
Pale, with the blue of high zenith… In smooth, running patterns, a sof… Warm from a woman’s soft shoulders… Where is she, the woman who wore i… A languor, fire-shotted, runs thro…
Paul Jannes was working very late… For this watch must be done by eig… To-morrow or the Cardinal Would certainly be vexed. Of all His customers the old prelate
The wind is singing through the tr… A deep-voiced song of rushing cade… And crashing intervals. No summer… Is this, though hot July is at it… Gone is her gentler music; with de…
Slipping softly through the sky Little horned, happy moon, Can you hear me up so high? Will you come down soon? On my nursery window-sill
Gushing from the mouths of stone m… To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble their feet And rustle to a passing wind,
My cup is empty to-night, Cold and dry are its sides, Chilled by the wind from the open… Empty and void, it sparkles white… The room is filled with the strang…
I have painted a picture of a ghos… Upon my kite, And hung it on a tree. Later, when I loose the string And let it fly,
The fountain bent and straightened… In the night wind, Blowing like a flower. It gleamed and glittered, A tall white lily,
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…
How the slates of the roof sparkle… beyond the high wall! How quietly… over there, over there, sliding th… of the line, stately with canvas,… over the glittering roof, over the…
This little bowl is like a mossy p… In a Spring wood, where dogtooth… Nodding in chequered sunshine of t… A quiet place, still, with the sou… Where, though unseen, is heard the…
A little garden on a bleak hillsid… Where deep the heavy, dazzling mou… Lies far into the spring. The sun… Is scarcely able to melt patches w… About the single rose bush. All d…
'T is you that are the music, not… The song is but a door which, open… Lets forth the pent-up melody insi… Your spirit’s harmony, which clear… Sings but of you. Throughout your…
Our meeting was like the upward sw… In the blue night. I do not know when it burst; But now I stand gaping, In a glory of falling stars.