#AmericanWriters
Love has had his way with me. This my heart is torn and maimed Since he took his play with me. Cruel well the bow-boy aimed, Shot, and saw the feathered shaft
Here in my heart I am Helen; I’m Aspasia and Hero, at least. I’m Judith, and Jael, and Madame… I’m Salome, moon of the East. Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Accursed from their birth they be Who seek to find monogamy, Pursuing it from bed to bed– I think they would be better dead.
My hand, a little raised, might pr… Where I may look, the frosted pea… So shaped before Olympus was begu… Spanned each to each, now, by a si… Thus to face Beauty have I travel…
“It’s queer,” she said; “I see th… As plain as I beheld it then, All silver—like and calm and brigh… We’ve not had stars like that agai… ”And she was such a gentle thing
Little things that no one needs— Little things to joke about— Little landscapes, done in beads. Little morals, woven out, Little wreaths of gilded grass,
They say of me, and so they should… It’s doubtful if I come to good. I see acquaintances and friends Accumulating dividends, And making enviable names
When I am old, and comforted, And done with this desire, With Memory to share my bed And Peace to share my fire, I’ll comb my hair in scalloped ban…
If I had a shiny gun, I could have a world of fun Speeding bullets through the brain… Of the folk who give me pains; Or had I some poison gas,
Now it’s over, and now it’s done; Why does everything look the same? Just as bright, the unheeding sun,… Can’t it see that the parting came… People hurry and work and swear,
Who lay against the sea, and fled, Who lightly loved the wave, Shall never know, when he is dead, A cool and murmurous grave. But in a shallow pit shall rest
Go I must along my ways Though my heart be ragged, Dripping bitter through the days, Festering, and jagged. Smile I must at every twinge,
Who call him spurious and shoddy Shall do it o’er my lifeless body. I heartily invite such birds To come outside and say those word…
Back of my back, they talk of me, Gabble and honk and hiss; Let them batten, and let them be– Me, I can sing them this: “Better to shiver beneath the star…
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