#AmericanWriters
They laid their hands upon my head… They stroked my cheek and brow; And time could heal a hurt, they s… And time could dim a vow. And they were pitiful and mild
Were you to cross the world, my de… To work or love or fight, I could be calm and wistful here, And close my eyes at night. It were a sweet and gallant pain
With you, my heart is quiet here, And all my thoughts are cool as ra… I sit and let the shifting year Go by before the windowpane, And reach my hand to yours, my dea…
The Lives and Times of John Keat… Percy Bysshe Shelley, and George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron Byron and Shelley and Keats Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
In April, in April, My one love came along, And I ran the slope of my high hi… To follow a thread of song. His eyes were hard as porphyry
Chloe’s hair, no doubt, was bright… Lydia’s mouth more sweetly sad; Hebe’s arms were rather whiter; Languorous-lidded Helen had Eyes more blue than e’er the sky w…
And let her loves, when she is dea… Write this above her bones: “No more she lives to give us brea… Who asked her only stones.”
I never may turn the loop of a roa… Where sudden, ahead, the sea is ly… But my heart drags down with an an… My heart, that a second before was… I never behold the quivering rain—
She’s passing fair; but so demure… So quiet is her gown, so smooth he… That few there are who note her an… She’s passing fair. Yet when was ever beauty held more…
“So surely is she mine,” you say,… Your quick and steady mind to hard… To bills and bonds and talk of wha… And whistle up the stair, of eveni… And do you see a dream behind my e…
If I were mild, and I were sweet, And laid my heart before your feet… And took my dearest thoughts to yo… And hailed your easy lies as true; Were I to murmur “Yes,” and then
My garden blossoms pink and white, A place of decorous murmuring, Where I am safe from August night And cannot feel the knife of Spri… And I may walk the pretty place
How shall I wail, that wasn’t mea… Love has run and left me, oh, what… Dream, then, I must, who never ca… What if I should meet Love, once… What if I met him, walking on the…
I dunno yer highfalutin’ words, bu… When I’m peekin’ out th’ winder o… I’ve been lookin’ 'roun’ this big… An’ I want t’ tell ye, neighbor m… I’ve ben settin’ here, a-thinkin’…
When I consider, pro and con, What things my love is built upon— A curly mouth; a sinewed wrist; A questioning brow; a pretty twist Of words as old and tried as sin;