#AmericanWriters
I learnt to write to you in happie… And every letter was a piece I ch… From off my heart, a fragment newl… From the mosaic of life; its blues… Its throbbing reds, I gave to ear…
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…
There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber
I have been temperate always, But I am like to be very drunk With your coming. There have been times I feared to walk down the street
Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits o… Ticked off upon a clock which neve… Shredding our portion of Eternity… We break away at last, and steal t…
Near where I live there is a lake As blue as blue can be, winds make It dance as they go blowing by. I think it curtseys to the sky. It’s just a lake of lovely flowers
You are like the stem Of a young beech-tree, Straight and swaying, Breaking out in golden leaves. Your walk is like the blowing of a…
As I would free the white almond… So I would strip your trappings o… Beloved. And fingering the smooth and polis… I should see that in my hands glit…
You are beautiful and faded Like an old opera tune Played upon a harpsichord; Or like the sun-flooded silks Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
Hold your apron wide That I may pour my gifts into it, So that scarcely shall your two ar… From falling to the ground. I would pour them upon you
They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river,
How is it that, being gone, you fi… And all the long nights are made g… No loneliness is this, nor misery, But great content that these shoul… Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as sh…
The neighbour sits in his window a… From my bed I can hear him, And the round notes flutter and ta… And hit against each other, Blurring to unexpected chords.
Naughty little speckled trout, Can’t I coax you to come out? Is it such great fun to play In the water every day? Do you pull the Naiads’ hair
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…