#AmericanWriters
The acorn-oak Sullens to sombre crimson all its… And where it hugely heaves A giant head dark as congested blo… The gum-tree towers, against the s…
He stands above all worldly schism… And, gazing over life’s abysm Beholds within the starry range Of heaven laws of death and change… That, through his soul’s prophetic…
Bird, with the voice of gold, Dropping wild bar on bar, To which the flowers unfold, Star upon gleaming star, Here in the forest old:
A tranquil bar Of rosy twilight under dusk’s firs… A glimmering sound Of whispering waters over grassy g… A sun-sweet smell
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…
And the boy that lives next door Said to me one day, There’s more In those rhymes of Mother Goose And those tales, I don’t care who… Arabian Nights or Grimm’s, or, we…
The mornings raise Voices of gold in the Almighty’s… The sunsets soar In choral crimson from far shore t… Each is a blast,
I look about me, and behold How all is changed: The sound and… The kind, the true, the hale and o… That once made strong the features… Of life, are cast in other mold,
When dusk is drowned in drowsy dre… And slow the hues of sunset die; When firefly and moth go by, And in still streams the new moon… Another moon and sky:
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.
Where rise the brakes of bramble t… Wrapped with the trailing rose; Through cane where waters ramble,… Where deep the sword-grass grows, Who knows?
Between the death of day and birth… By War’s red light, I met with one in trailing sorrows… Whose features had The look of Him who died to set m…
You have forgot: it once was red With life, this rose, to which you… When, there in happy days gone by, You plucked it, on my breast to li… ‘Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a…
Sweet lies! the sweetest ever hear… To her he said: Her heart remembers every word Now he is dead. I ask:' If thus his lies can make
Misty are the far-off hills And misty are the near; Purple hazes dimly lie Veiling hill and field and sky, Marshes where the hylas cry,