#AmericanWriters
The ways are green with the gladde… Of the young year’s fairest daught… O, the shadows that fleet o’er the… O, the magic of running water! The spirit of spring is in every t…
Me happy, night, night full of bri… Oh couch made happy by iny long de… How many words talked out with abu… Struggles when the lights were tak… Now with bared breasts she wrestle…
The baby new to earth and sky Has never until now Unto himself the question put Or asked us if the cow Is higher in the mental scale
These tales of old disguisings, ar… Strange myths of souls that found… Unwonted folk that spake an hostil… Some soul from all the rest who’d… The star—span acres of a former lo…
For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old scene.Wrong from the s… No, hardly, but seeing he had been…
The jewelled steps are already qui… It is so late that the dew soaks m… And I let down the crystal curtai… And watch the moon through the cle…
At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:
O helpless few in my country, remn… Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved,
Gladstone was still respected, When John Ruskin produced ‘King’s Treasuries’; Swinburne And Rossetti still abused. Foetid Buchanan lifted up his voi…
We’ll go no more a-roving by the l… November glooms are barren beside… The summer flowers are faded, the… We’ll go no more a-roving, lest wo… We’ll go no more a-roving by the l…
We flash across the level. We thunder thro’ the bridges. We bicker down the cuttings. We sway along the ridges. A rush of streaming hedges,
The salmon-trout drifts in the str… The soul of the salmon-trout float… Like a little wafer of light. The salmon moves in the sun-shot,… As light as the shadow of the fish
I see by the morning papers That America’s sturdy sons Have started a investigation Of the making of guns. The morning paper tells me
The little Millwins attend the Ru… The mauve and greenish souls of th… Were seen lying along the upper se… Like so many unused boas. The turbulent and undisciplined ho…
Or ever the knightly years were go… With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by,