#AmericanWriters
He found the road so long and lone That he was fain to turn again. The bird’s faint note, the bee’s l… Seemed to his heart to monotone The unavailing and the vain,
There is a scent of roses and spil… Between the moonlight and the laur… The marble idol glimmers on its sh… White as a star, among a heaven of… Here all my life lies like a spilt…
There are haunters of the silence,… I have sat with them and hearkened… I have shuddered from their coming… And have cursed them and have bles… At my door I see their shadows; i…
This is the path he used to take, That ended at a rose-porched door: He takes it now for oldtime’s sake… And love of yore. The blue mertensia, by the stone,
Not into these dark cities, These sordid marts and streets, That the sun in his rising pities, And the moon with sorrow greets, Does she, with her dreams and flow…
When the poppies, with their shiel… Sentinel Forest and the harvest fields, In the bell Of a blossom, fair to see,
Who hath beheld the goddess face t… Blind with her beauty, all his day… Climbing lone mountains towards he… Weighed with song’s sweet, inexora…
Rain will fall on the fading flowe… Winds will blow through the drippi… When Fall leads in her tattered H… With Death to keep them company. All night long in the weeping weat…
Unto what end, I ask, unto what e… Is all this effort, this unrest an… Work that avails not? strife and m… Ambitions vain that rack our heart… Did labor but avail! did it defend
Woman’s a star, a rose; Man but a moth, a bee: High now as heaven she glows, Low now as earth and sea: Star of the world and rose,
Deep in the hollow wood he found a… Winding unto a water, dim and gray… Grayer and dimmer than the break o… By which a wildrose blossomed; flo… Leaning above its image hour on ho…
All desolate she sate her down Upon the marble of the temple’s st… You would have thought her, with h… Flushed cheeks and hazel hair, A dryad dreaming there.
In her wimple of wind and her slip… The twilight comes like a little g… Herding her owls with many’tu-whoo… Her little brown owls in the woodl… Where dimly she walks in her whisp…
The teasel and the horsemint sprea… The hillside as with sunset, sown With blossoms, o’er the Standing-… That ripples in its rocky bed: There are no treasuries that hold
I heard the wind last night that c… Like some old skipper’s ghost outs… And on the roof the rain that tram… Like feet of seamen on a deck stor… Against the pane the Night with s…