#AmericanWriters
Man alive, that mournst thy lot, Desiring what thou hast not got, Money, beauty, love, what not; Deeming it blesseder to be A rotted man, than live to see
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide,
I looked in my heart while the wil… And what did I see I had not seen… Only a question less or a question… Nothing to match the flight of wil… Tiresome heart, forever living and…
Ho, Giant! This is I! I have built me a bean-stalk into… La,—but it’s lovely, up so high! This is how I came,—I put Here my knee, there my foot,
And you as well must die, belovèd… And all your beauty stand you in n… This flawless, vital hand, this pe… This body of flame and steel, befo… Of Death, or under his autumnal f…
People that build their houses inl… People that buy a plot of ground Shaped like a house, and build a h… Far from the sea-board, far from t… Of water sucking the hollow ledges…
I am not resigned to the shutting… So it is, and so it will be, for s… Into the darkness they go, the wis… With lilies and with laurel they g… Lovers and thinkers, into the eart…
Oh, here the air is sweet and stil… And soft’s the grass to lie on; And far away’s the little hill They took for Christ to die on. And there’s a hill across the broo…
Think not, not for a moment let yo… Wearied with thinking, doze upon t… That the work’s done and the long… And beauty, since 'tis paid for, c… If in the moonlight from the silen…
Boys and girls that held her dear, Do your weeping now; All you loved of her lies here. Brought to earth the arrogant brow… And the withering tongue
Love has gone and left me and the… Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and… here! But ah!—to lie awake and hear the… Would that it were day again!—with…
If it were only still!— With far away the shrill Crying of a cock; Or the shaken bell From a cow’s throat
She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-t… And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs;
For the sake of some things That be now no more I will strew rushes On my chamber-floor, I will plant bergamot
Read by the poet at The Public C… of Arts and Letters at Carnegie… Great Muse, that from this hall a… Hast never been, Great Muse of Song,