#AmericanWriters
Athwart a sky of brass long welts… A path of gold the wide Ohio lies… Beneath the sunset, billowing mani… The dark-blue hilltops rise. And westward dips the crescent of…
Below the sunset’s range of rose, Below the heaven’s deepening blue, Down woodways where the balsam blo… And milkweed tufts hang, gray with… A Jersey heifer stops and lows–
There’s a boy that you must know, Always ragged, dirty too; Just a wretched sight and show Worst boy that I ever knew; Always hitting other boys
The trees took on fantastic shapes That night when I came to the gra… The very bushes seemed to change; This seemed a hag’s head, that an… The road itself seemed darkly stra…
Why do I love you, who have never… My heart encouragement or any caus… Is it because, as earth is held of… Your soul holds mine by some myste… Perhaps, unseen of me, within your…
They come as couriers of Heaven:… Sonorous-sandalled with majestic a… In raiment of swift foam and wind… Blowing the trumpets of God’s wra…
Christmas Eve is here at last. And I’m happy as can be. Going to have a Christmas-tree, And more toys than any past Christmas saw or ever had,
THE woods stretch wild to the mou… And the brush is deep where a man… They have brought the bloodhounds… To the roadside rock where they fo… They have brought the bloodhounds…
There was a man rode into town one… Barefooted, hatless, and without a… It was the dead of winter. Round… Were marks of violence: bits and w… Bristled his beard and hair. From…
Here is a tale for farmer and for… There was an ox, who might have pl… So strong was he, his huge head li… A Gothic helmet with enormous cre… Stolid of look and slow of hoof an…
Little leaves, that lean your ears From each branch and bough of spri… What is that your rapture hears? Song of bird or flight of wing, All so eager, little ears?
Deep with divine tautology, The sunset’s mighty mystery Again has traced the scroll-like w… With hieroglyphs of burning gold: Forever new, forever old,
Far to the South a star, Bright-shining over all; And a sound of voices singing, ‘Round a Babe in an ox’s-stall. Three Kings a-riding, riding,
‘These winter days,’ my father say… ‘When mornings blow and bite and f… And hens sit cackling in the straw… Stiff with the frost as gates that… Remind me of my youth when, raw,
Mother of visions, with lineaments… Breathed on the eyelids of love by… Secretly, sweetly, O presence of… Thou comest mysterious, In beauty imperious,