#AmericanWriters
It is not well For me to dwell On what upon that day befell, On that dark day of fall befell; When through the landscape, bowed…
The source of laughter lies so nea… And pain to rapture, that one foun… From forth the two Love’s; in who… The image of the Heaven each man…
March set heel upon the flowers, Trod and trampled them for hours: But when April’s bugles rang, Up their starry legions sprang, Radiant in the sun-shot showers.
‘He cometh not,’ she said.’ —MARIANA It will not be to-day and yet I think and dream it will; and let The slow uncertainty devise
The locust builds its are of sound And tops it with a spire; The roadside leaves pant to the gr… With dust from hoof and tire. The insects, day and night, make d…
Across the world she sends me word… From gardens fair as Falerina’s, Now by a blossom, now a bird, To come to her, who long has lured With magic sweeter than Alcina’s.
There was moonlight in the garden… There was scent of pink and peony… When adown the pathway whitely, wh… She came stepping, oh, so lightly, To the old gate made of pickets.
GREEN, watery jets of light let… The rippling foliage drenched with… And golden glimmers, warm and dim, That in the vistaed distance swim; Where, 'round the wood-spring’s oo…
How often hope’s fair flower bloom… The soul was fertilized with black…
A Mile of lane, hedged high with… And dying daisies, white with sun,… Downward into a wood; through whic… Steals like a shadow; over which i… A bridge of logs, worn deep by man…
Hey, little boy, little boy, come… Hey, little boy, little boy, Andy… Hey, little boy, little boy, can i… Your mouth is crumbed with candy?’ ‘What’s that to you? what’s that t…
The summer takes its hue From something opulent as fair in… And the bright heaven is brighter… Brighter and lovelier, Arching its beautiful blue,
Slow sinks the sun, a great carbun… Red in the cavern of a sombre clou… And in her garden, where the dense… Among her dying asters stands the… Like some lone woman in a ruined h…
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…
Through leafy windows of the trees The full moon shows a wrinkled fac… And, trailing dim her draperies Of mist from place to place, The Twilight leads the breeze.