#AmericanWriters
Let us build here an exquisite fri… The flame, the autumn, and the gre… Fought out their strife here, ’tis… Where these have been, meet ’tis,…
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…
Rest me with Chinese colours, For I think the glass is evil. The wind moves above the wheat– With a silver crashing, A thin war of metal.
And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mou… Not shaking the grass
Towards the Noel that morte saiso… (Christ make the shepherds’ homage… Then when the grey wolves everycho… Drink of the winds their chill sma… And lap o’ the snows food’s guered…
FROM THE PROVENCAL O… Lady, since you care nothing for m… And since you have shut me away fr… Causelessly, I know not wnere to go seeking,
Agathas Four and forty lovers had Agathas… All of whom she refused; And now she turns to me seeking lo… And her hair also is turning.
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
Who, who will be the next man to e… Love interferes with fidelities; The gods have brought shame on the… Each man wants the pomegranate for… Amiable and harmonious people are…
Rest Master, for we be a-weary, w… And would feel the fingers of the… Upon these lids that lie over us Sodden and lead-heavy. Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is…
O woe, woe, People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon Therefore let us act as if we were dead already.
His brow spreads large and placid,… Is deep and bright, with steady lo… Soft lines of tranquil thought his… His face at once benign and proud… If envy scout, if ignorance deny,
The gew-gaws of false amber and fa… ‘Like to like nature’: these agglu…
What if I know thy speeches word… And if thou knew’st I knew them w… What if I know thy speeches word… And all the time thou sayest them… ‘Lo, one there was who bent her fa…
Her grave, sweet haughtiness Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies. Others are beautiful, none more, s… I suppose, when poetry comes down…