#AmericanWriters
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:
Push back the brambles, berry-blue… The hollowed spring is full in vie… Deep-tangled with luxuriant fern Its rock-embedded, crystal urn. Not for the loneliness that keeps
A beardless crew we launched our l… Laughed at its lightness; joyed to… Veer in the wind, and, with the fr… Bend o’er the foaming prow the swo… No fears were ours within that sta…
Mother of visions, with lineaments… Breathed on the eyelids of Love b… Secretly, sweetly, O presence of… Thou comest mysterious, In beauty imperious,
I. SPRING ON THE HILLS Ah, shall I follow, on the hills, The Spring, as wild wings follow? Where wild-plum trees make wan the… Crabapple trees the hollow,
They who maintained their rights, Through storm and stress, And walked in all the ways That God made known, Led by no wandering lights,
Briar and fennel and chinquapin, And rue and ragweed everywhere; The field seemed sick as a soul wi… Or dead of an old despair, Born of an ancient care.
Blood-Coloured oaks, that stand a… Gaunt slopes, on which the bleak l… And broom-sedge strips of smoky-pi… In which, beneath the ragged sky,… From West to East, from wood to w…
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…
I belt the morn with ribboned mist… With baldricked blue I gird the n… And dusk with purple, crimson-kiss… White-buckled with the hunter’s mo… These follow me, the season says:
Yea, this is he, whose name is syn… Of all that’s noble, though but lo… Who took command upon a stormy mor… When few had hope. Although uncou… Homely of face and gaunt, but neve…
Between the darkness and the day As, lost in doubt, I went my way, I met a shape, as faint as fair, With star-like blossoms in its hai… Its body, which the moon shone thr…
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…
Those hewers of the clouds, the W… At the four compass-points,-are ou… I hear their sandals trample on th… I hear their voices trumpet throug… Builders of storm, God’s workmen,…
Small twilight singer Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray,… Of dusk’s dim glimmer, How cool thy note sounds; how thy… Vibrate, soft-sighing,