#AmericanWriters
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 rain made ruin of the rose and… The lily into tatters: now the Mo… Looks from the hopeless East with… As from her attic looks a dull-eye… The coreopsis drips; the sunflower…
I dream again I 'm in the lane That leads me home through night a… Again the fence I see and, dense, The garden, wet and sweet of sense… Then mother’s window, with its sta…
What would it mean for you and me If dawn should come no more! Think of its gold along the sea, Its rose above the shore! That rose of awful mystery,
PROEM THE Nights of song and story, With breath of frost and rain, Whose locks are wild and hoary, Whose fingers tap the pane
In the woods, not long ago, Met with Robin Goodfellów; First we heard his horse-like laug… In an ivy-bush near by; Then we saw him, like a calf,
Now ’tis the time when, tall, The long blue torches of the bellf… Among the trees; and, by the woode… In many a fragrant ball, Blooms of the button-bush fall.
O Dark-Eyed goddess of the marble… Whose look is silence and whose to… Who walkest lonely through the wor… Who sittest lonely with Life’s bl… Who in the hollow hours of night’s…
Globed in Heav’n’s tree of azure,… As some round apple hung High in hesperian boughs, thou han… The branch-like mists among: Within thy light a sunburnt youth,…
When Lydia smiles, I seem to see The walls around me fade and flee; And, lo, in haunts of hart and hin… I seem with lovely Rosalind, In Arden 'neath the greenwood tre…
When blood-root blooms and trilliu… Unclasp their stars to sun and rai… My heart strikes hands with winds… And wanders in the woods again. O urging impulse, born of spring,
Over the hills, as the pewee flies… Under the blue of the Southern sk… Over the hills, where the red-bird… Like a scarlet blossom, or sits an… Under the shadow of rock and tree,
And I told the boy next door What Jack Frost had done; and he Said, 'Ah shucks! that’s nothing;… I have seen all that before. You just come along with me;
Under the boughs of spring She swung in the old rope-swing. Her cheeks, with their happy blood… Were pink as the apple-bud. Her eyes, with their deep delight,
With fall on fall, from wood to wo… The brook pours mossy music down Or is it, in the solitude, The murmur of a Faery town? A town of Elfland filled with bel…