#AmericanWriters
When I but think upon the great d… And turn my mind upon that splendi… Lo! I do curse my strength And blame the sun his gladness; For that the one is dead
Kung walked by the dynastic temple and into the cedar grove, and then out by the lower river, And with him Khieu Tchi
The greater masters of the commonp… REMBRANDT and good SIR WA… Could paint her all to you: experi… And antique liveliness and pondero… The sweet old roses of her sunken…
O helpless few in my country, remn… Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved,
It rests me to be among beautiful… Why should one always lie about su… I repeat: It rests me to converse with beaut… Even though we talk nothing but no…
You were praised, my books, because I had just come from the c… I was twenty years behind the time… so you found an audience ready. I do not disown you,
I sat on the Dogana’s steps For the gondolas cost too much, th… And there were not “those girls”,… And the Buccentoro twenty yards o… And the lit cross—beams, that year…
The sky-like limpid eyes, The circular infant’s face, The stiffness from spats to collar Never relaxing into grace; The heavy memories of Horeb, Sina…
FROM CHARLES D’ORLEANS God! that mad’st her well regard h… How she is so fair and bonny; For the great charms that are upon… Ready are all folks to reward her.
We shall surely die: Must we needs grow old? Grow old and cold, And we know not why? O, the By-and-By,
O thou newcomer who seek’st Rom… And find’st in Rome no thing th… Arches worn old and palaces made c… Rome’s name alone within these w… Behold how pride and ruin can befa…
By the North Gate, the wind blows… Lonely from the beginning of time… Trees fall, the grass goes yellow… I climb the towers and towers to watch out the barbarous land:
Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and’not As transient things are gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness
Come my cantilations, Let us dump our hatreds into one b… Hot sun, clear water, fresh wind, Let me be free of pavements, Let me be free of the printers.
The very small children in patched… Being smitten with an unusual wisd… Stopped in their play as she passe… And cried up from their cobbles: Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!