#AmericanWriters
There’s a little fairy who Peeps from every dropp of dew: You can see him wink and shine On the morning-glory vine, Mischief in his eye of blue.
Magician he, who, autumn nights, Down from the starry heavens whirl… A harlequin in spangled tights, Whose wand’s touch carpets earth w… Through him each pane presents a s…
Let us go far from here! Here there is sadness in the early… Here sorrow waits where joy went l… The sicklied face of heaven hangs… Above the woodland and the meadowl…
A Tortured tree in a huddled holl… On whose gnarled boughs three leav… A strip of path that the hunters f… That leads to fields of the wind’s… And a rain-washed hill with the wi…
COME in, old Ghost of all that u… You find me old, And love grown cold, And fortune fled to younger compan… Departed, as the glory of the day,
I found myself among the trees What time the reapers ceased to re… And in the sunflower-blooms the be… Huddled brown heads and went to sl… Rocked by the balsam-breathing bre…
Don’t know what to do to-day. Got so many things to do I can’t do them. Want to play, But my toys are all too new I don’t like to play with them:
Last night it was Hallowe’en. Darkest night I’ve ever seen. And the boy next door, I thought, Would be glad to know of this Jack-o’-lantern father brought
One with the Heaven above Am I its bliss: Part of its truth and love, And what God is. I heal the soul and mind:
John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum Came a-riding into town: At the Sign o’ the Jug-and-Jorum There they met with Low-lie-down. Brave in shoes of Romany leather,
I Stood upon a height and listene… The solemn psalmody of many pines, And with the sound I seemed to se… Of mountains rise, blue peak on cl… And hear the roar of torrents hurl…
A barren field o’ergrown with thor… It stays for him who waits for hel… Only the soul that makes a plough… Shall know what blossoms underneat…
Roses, brier on brier, Like a hedge of fire, Walled it from the world and rolle… Crimson ‘round it; manifold Blossoms, ’mid which once of old
That day we wandered ‘mid the hill… Clouds are not lonelier, the fores… In emerald darkness round us. Man… And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made… And many a bird the glimmering lig…
What mines the morning heavens unf… What far Alaskas of the skies! That, veined with elemental gold, Sierra on Sierra rise. Heap up the gold of all the world,