#AmericanWriters
How fresh the Dartle’s little wav… A steely silver, underlined with b… And flashing where the round cloud… Let drop the yellow sunshine to gl… And tip the edges of the waves wit…
They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river,
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-...
But why did I kill him? Why? Why… In the small, gilded room, near th… My ears rack and throb with his cr… And his eyes goggle under his hair… As my fingers sink into the fair
From out the dragging vastness of… Wave-fettered, bound in sinuous, s… He toils toward the rounding beach… One moment, white and dripping, si… Cut like a cameo in lazuli,
April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds, The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds. Across a deep-sunken stream
I pray to be the tool which to you… Long use has shaped and moulded ti… Apt for your need, and, unconsider… You take it for its service. I de… To be forgotten in the woven stran…
Why do the lilies goggle their ton… When I pluck them; And writhe and twist, And strangle themselves against my… So that I can hardly weave the ga…
Frindsbury, Kent, 1786 Bang! Bang! Tap! Tap-a-tap! Rap!
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…
The Fool Errant sat by the highwa… And his gaze wandered up and his g… A vigorous youth, but with no wish… Yet his longing was great for the… He whistled a little frivolous tun…
The throats of the little red trum… And the clangour of brass beats ag… They bray and blare at the burning… Red! Red! Coarse notes of red, Trumpeted at the blue sky.
All day long I have been working, Now I am tired I call: “Where are you?” But there is only the oak-tree rus… The house is very quiet,
It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swoopin… Looping round corners, Sliding over the cobble-stones, Whipping and veering,