#AmericanWriters
When you and I in the hills went… You and I in the bright May weath… The birds, that sang on the boughs… There in the green of the woods, k… All that my heart was saying low,
Loss molds our lives in many ways, And fills our souls with guesses; Upon our hearts sad hands it lays Like some grave priest that blesse… Far better than the love we win,
Clumped in the shadow of the beech… In whose brown top the crows are l… Where, every side, great briers re… And cling like hands, the beechdro… The mossy cirque with neutral tint…
I do not love you now, O narrow heart, that had no height… You, whom mine fed; to whom yours… Food when mine hungered, and of wh… I do not love you now.
Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, ‘Blacker than a midnight blast,’ Mother said. And he began Crying, ‘Charcoal! charcoal!
Out of it all but this remains: I was with one who crossed wide ch… Of the Cordilleras, whose peaks Lock in the wilds of Yucatan, Chiapas and Honduras. Weeks
She took her babe, the child of sh… And wrapped it warmly in her shawl… From house to house for work. Pro… A look of wonder on her; raised a… Of Christian outrage. None would…
How often hope’s fair flower bloom… The soul was fertilized with black…
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,
THEY hold their own, they have n… In gloom and glow, in hopes and fe… In love and terror, hovering round The lore of that enchanted ground!… That mystic region, where one hear…
The deep seclusion of this forest… O’er which the green boughs weave… Along which bluet and anemone Spread dim a carpet; where the Tw… Her cool abode; and, sweet as afte…
You have forgot: it once was red With life, this rose, to which you… When, there in happy days gone by, You plucked it, on my breast to li… ‘Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a…
The barberry burns, the rose-hip c… And haw and sumach hedge the hill… Down which the road winds, worn of… Only the blueberry-picker plods no… Here once the quarry-driver, brown…
THIS world is made a witchcraft… With gazing on a woman’s face. Now ’tis her smile, whose sorcery Turns all my thoughts to melody. Now ’tis her frown, that comes and…
WHAT is the gold of mortal-kind To that men find Deep in the poet’s mind! ' That magic purse Of Dreams from which