#AmericanWriters
‘We have the receipt of fern seed:… —HENRY IV And we have met but twice or thric… Three times enough to make me love… I praised your hair once; then you…
When winds go organing through the… On hill and headland, darkly gleam… Meseems I hear sonorous lines Of Iliads that the woods are drea…
The little tents the wildflowers r… Are tabernacles where Love prays And Beauty preaches all the days. I walk the woodland through and th… And everywhere I see their blue
In heavens of riveted blue, that s… With glaucous flame, deep in the w… Stands Midas-like; or, wading on… Touches with splendor all the twil… Each cloud that, like a stepping-s…
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…
When Spring comes down the wildwo… A crocus in her ear, Sweet in her train, returned with… The Love of Yester-year Will follow, carolling his lay,
One night I lingered in the wood And saw a spirit-form that stood Among the wildflowers. Like the d… It twinkled; partly wind and scent… Then down a moonbeam there it blew…
The ant is busy with its house, The bee is at its tree; And by its nest among the boughs The bird makes melody. The Day, reluctant still to leave…
White art thou, O Lilith! as the… Glitters and clingingly silvers an… Of the beautiful breasts of the ny… That crystal and pearl by clusters… Forests of tenebrous palm.
When on the mountain tops ray-crow… Turns his swift arrows, dart on gl… Let but a rock glint green, the wi… Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-… Rolled into plunging torrents spri…
The rose of Hope, how rich and re… It blooms, and will bloom on, 't i… Since Eve, in Eden days gone by, Plucked it on Adam’s heart to lie… When out of Paradise they fled,
‘T was Fiddledeedee who put to se… With a rollicking buccaneer Bumbl… An acorn-cup was their hollow boat A rakish craft was their acorn-boa… And their sail a butterfly’s wing;
Roaring winds that rocked the crow… High in his eyrie, All night long, and to and fro Swung the cedar and drove the snow Out of the North, have ceased to…
Bee-Bitten in the orchard hung The peach; or, fallen in the weeds… Lay rotting, where still sucked an… The gray bee, boring to its seed’s Pink pulp and honey blackly stung.
Now is it as if Spring had never… And Winter but a memory and dream… Here where the Summer stands, her… Heaped high with bloom and beam, Among her blackberry-lilies, low t…