#AmericanWriters
A square, squat room (a cellar on… Drab to the soul, drab to the very… Plasters astray in unnatural-looki… Scissors and lint and apothecary’s… Here, on a bench a skeleton would…
Io! Io! Tamuz! The Dryad staiids in my court-yar… With plaintive, querulous crying. (Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!) Oh, no, she is not crying: ‘Tamuz…
The Past was goodly once, and yet… The best of it we know is that it’… Dwindled and faded quite, perished… Nothing is left at last of what on… Coming back like a ghost, staring…
When the wind storms by with a sho… Rejoice in the tramp and the roar… Then, then, it comes home to the h… Is the passion that burns the bloo… Till you pity the dead down there…
The surges gushed and sounded, The blue was the blue of June, And low above the brightening east Floated a shred of moon. The woods were black and solemn,
Kung walked by the dynastic temple and into the cedar grove, and then out by the lower river, And with him Khieu Tchi
Your mind and you are our Sargass… London has swept about you this sc… And bright ships left you this or… Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all… Strange spars of knowledge and dim…
The full sea rolls and thunders In glory and in glee. O, bury me not in the senseless ea… But in the living sea! Ay, bury me where it surges
The harsh acts of your levity! Many and many. I am hung here, a scare-crow for l… Escape! There is, O Idiot, no es… Flee if you like into Ranaus,
IN o more for us the little sighi… No more the winds at twilight trou… Lo the fair dead! No more do I burn. No more for us the fluttering of w…
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…
So-shu dreamed, And having dreamed that he was a b… He was uncertain why he should try… Hence his contentment.
Jove, be merciful to that unfortun… Or an ornamental death will be hel… The time is come, the air heaves i… The dry earth pants against the ca… But this heat is not the root of t…
Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been in many a land… There is naught else in living. And I would rather have my sweet,
Les yeux d’une morte M’ont salué, Enchassés dans un visage stupide Dont tous les autres traits étaien… Ils m’ont salué