#AmericanWriters
There is no joy of earth that thri… My bosom like the far-off hills! Th’ unchanging hills, that, shadow… Beckon our mutability To follow and to gaze upon
Let me forget her face! So fresh, so lovely! the abiding p… Of tears and smiles that won my he… Of dreams and moods that moved my… As strong winds stir
Low, swallow-swept and gray, Between the orchard and the spring… All its wide windows overflowing h… And crannied doors a-swing, The old barn stands to-day.
She stood waist-deep among the bri… Above in twisted lengths were roll… The sunset’s tangled whorls of gol… Blown from the west’s cloud-pillar… And in the hush no sound did mar,
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…
The wind that breathes of columbin… And celandines that crowd the rock… That shakes the balsam of the pine… With laughter from his airy locks, Stops at my city door and knocks.
She comes, the dreamy daughter Of day and night, a girl, Who o’er the western water Lifts up her moon of pearl: Like some Rebecca at the well,
The night has set her outposts the… Of wind and rain; And to and fro, with ragged hair, At intervals they search the pane. The fir-trees, creepers redly clim…
The spring is coming! hear it blow… The rain and wind have cleared the… And I am going to play my fill With sunlight on the windy hill. And I am going to laugh and run,
The white moth-mullein brushed its… Cool, faery flowers against his kn… In places where the way lay dim The branches, arching suddenly, Made tomblike mystery for him.
Above her, pearl and rose the heav… Around her, flowers scattered eart… Or down the path in insolence held… Like cavaliers who ride the elves’… Scarlet and blue, within a garden…
Hold to the rapture: let it work Inward till founts of being fill, And all is clear that once was mur… And Beauty’s self rise, mirrored… Before the mind, that shall devise
When winds go organing through the… On hill and headland, darkly gleam… Meseems I hear sonorous lines Of Iliads that the woods are drea…
Here went a horse with heavy labor… Along the woodland side; Deep in the clay his iron hoof-mar… Patient and slow, Where with his human burden yester…
PROEM THE Nights of song and story, With breath of frost and rain, Whose locks are wild and hoary, Whose fingers tap the pane