#AmericanWriters
PLACES I love come back to me l… Hush me and heal me when I am ver… I see the oak woods at Saxton’s f… In a flare of crimson by the frost… And I am thirsty for the spring i…
Oh would I were the roses, that l… The heavy burning roses she touche… Dear hands that hold the roses, wh… Oh leave, oh leave the roses, and… She draws the heart from out them,…
If I should see your eyes again, I know how far their look would go… Back to a morning in the park With sapphire shadows on the snow. Or back to oak trees in the spring
With the man I love who loves me… I walked in the street-lamps’ flar… We watched the world go home that… In a flood through Union Square. I leaned to catch the words he sai…
THE sun was gone, and the moon wa… Over the blue Connecticut hills; The west was rosy, the east was fl… And over my head the swallows rush… This way and that, with changeful…
We held the book together timidly, Whose antique music in an alien to… Once rose among the dew-drenched v… Beneath a high Castilian balcony. I felt the lute strings’ ancient e…
When we come home at night and clo… Standing together in the shadowy r… Safe in our own love and the gentl… Glad of familiar wall and chair an… Glad to leave far below the clangi…
DAY, you have bruised and beaten… As rain beats down the bright, pro… Beaten my body, bruised my soul, Left me nothing lovely or whole— Yet I have wrested a gift from yo…
IF I could keep my innermost Me Fearless, aloof and free Of the least breath of love or hat… And not disconsolate At the sick load of sorrow laid on…
When the horns wear thin And the noise, like a garment outw… Falls from the night, The tattered and shivering night, That thinks she is gay;
I sang a song at dusking time Beneath the evening star, And Terence left his latest rhyme To answer from afar. Pierrot laid down his lute to weep…
I have no riches but my thoughts, Yet these are wealth enough for me… My thoughts of you are golden coin… Stamped in the mint of memory; And I must spend them all in song…
Your beauty lives in mystic melodi… And all the light about you breath… Your voice awakes the dreaming air… Within our music-haunted memories. The sirens’ strain that sank withi…
She is too kind, I think, for mor… Too gentle for the gusty ways of e… God gave to her a shy and silver m… And made her soul as clear And softly singing as an orchard s…
Like some rare queen of old romanc… Who loved the gleam of helm and la… Is she. A harper of King Arthur’s days Should praise her in a hundred lay…