#AmericanWriters
Mother of visions, with lineaments… Breathed on the eyelids of love by… Secretly, sweetly, O presence of… Thou comest mysterious, In beauty imperious,
Like some wild child that laughs a… Impatient of its mother’s arms, The wood brook from the hillside l… Eager to reach the neighboring far… Complaining crystal in its throat
Here is a tale for children and th… There was a fool, a man who’d had… But missed them, somehow; lost the… Tag-ends of things with which he’d… Of his cracked head, as panes are…
Over the bay as our boat went sail… Under the skies of Augustine, Far to the East lay the ocean pal… Under the skies of Augustine. There, in the boat as we sat toget…
They who maintained their rights, Through storm and stress, And walked in all the ways That God made known, Led by no wandering lights,
Yea, this is he, whose name is syn… Of all that’s noble, though but lo… Who took command upon a stormy mor… When few had hope. Although uncou… Homely of face and gaunt, but neve…
Meseemed that while she played, wh… Her fingers fell, as roses bloom b… I listened dead within a mighty ro… Of some old palace where great cas… Gaunt moonlight in, that glimpsed…
Then up the orient heights to the… Up and far up and over,-the heaven… Vibrant with rose and with ruby fr… Smiting symphonic fire on the firm… And the East was a priest who ado…
How often hope’s fair flower bloom… The soul was fertilized with black…
‘Trees,’ so he said and laid him l… At a great beech-tree’s root, ‘are… Upon their love it seems my life d… No dog or woman for me! Give me a… In winter saying, ’ Courage! hold…
The barberry burns, the rose-hip c… And haw and sumach hedge the hill… Down which the road winds, worn of… Only the blueberry-picker plods no… Here once the quarry-driver, brown…
Bald, with old eyes a blood-shot b… Into the Boar’s-Head Inn: the ho… His fulvous face, and all his raim… Of all the stews and all the East… Upon the battered board again he d…
Be of good cheer, and have no fear Of Fortune or Tomorrow: To Hope’s low whisper lend an ear And turn away from Sorrow. Time out of mind the soul is blind
Old Sis Snow, with hair ablow, Down the road now see her go! Her old gown pulled back and pinne… Round her legs by Wild-boy Wind Ough n’t he to just be skinned?
The dawn is a warp of fever, The eve is a woof of fire; And the month is a singing weaver Weaving a red desire. With stars Dawn dices with Even