#AmericanWriters
Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon To me. Wild sea-spray driven of the storm
Come with me where April twilight… Wigwam blue the April hills; Where the shadows and the high lig… Swarm the woods that Springtime f… Tents where dwell the tribes of be…
The summer takes its hue From something opulent as fair in… And the bright heaven is brighter… Brighter and lovelier, Arching its beautiful blue,
Summer, gowned in catnip-gray, Goes her weedy wildwood way, Where with rosehip-buttoned coat, Cardinal flower-plume afloat, With the squirrel-folk at play,
There’s a story no one knows, But myself, about a rose And a fairy and a star Where the Toyland people are. Once when I had gone to bed,
Topsy Turvy is her name; She’s a curiosity: Never sees the world the same As it seems to you and me. ‘All the world is upside down,’
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hil… Between whose breezy vistas gulfs… Pilot great clouds like towering a… And hawk and buzzard breast the az… With many a foaming fall and glimm…
‘He cometh not,’ she said.’ —MARIANA It will not be to-day and yet I think and dream it will; and let The slow uncertainty devise
He was a boy, sun-burned and brown… And she a girl from a neighboring… Dark were her eyes and dark her ha… And her cheeks as red as the ripe… Dainty and sweet, with a far-away
With anxious eyes and dry, expecta… Within the sculptured stoa by the… All day she waited while, like gho… Long clouds rolled over Paphos: t… Hung in the sultry poppy, half asl…
Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of… And 'mid their sheaves,-where, lik… Left by the reapers to the gatheri… The star of twilight glows,-as Ru… Dreamed homesick 'mid the harvest…
O Days that hold us; and years th… And dreams and mem’ries no time de… Where lie the islands, the morning… And where the highlands we knew wh… Oh, tell us, whether the happy hea…
Far as the eye can see the land is… And desolation sits among the ston… Looking on ruin who, from rocks li… Stares with a dead face at the dyi… Mounds, where the barberry and bay…
A SHADOW glided down the way Where sunset groped among the tree… And all the woodland bower, asway With trouble of the evening breeze… A shape, it moved with head held d…
We tightened stirrup; buckled rein… Looked to our saddle-girths again; Shook hands all round; then mounte… The gate swung wide: we said, ‘Go… No time for talk had Bell and I.