#AmericanWriters
I have come the selfsame path To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there Burning as before While I watch them in the wind
In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever, clear-eyed daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barre…
BOWED as an elm under the weight… So earth is bowed, under her weigh… Molten sea, richness of leaves and… Bronze of sea-grasses. Clefts in the cliff shelter the pu…
The summer dawn came over-soon, The earth was like hot iron at noo… In Nazareth; There fell no rain to ease the hea… And dusk drew on with tired feet
I KNOW the stars by their names, Aldebaran, Altair, And I know the path they take Up heaven’s broad blue stair. I know the secrets of men
I am a cloud in the heaven’s heigh… The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and… I cast my shadow on hill and sea— But why do the pines on the mounta…
Bring me the roses white and red, And take the laurel leaves away; Yea, wreathe the roses round my he… That wearies ‘neath the crown of b… ’We searched the wintry forests th…
Oh Loves there are that enter in, And Loves there are that wait, And Loves that sit a-weeping Whose joy will come too late. For some there be that ope their d…
I THOUGHT of you when I was wa… By a wind that made me glad and af… Of the rushing, pouring sound of t… That the great trees made. One thought in my mind went over a…
The lightning spun your garment fo… Of silver filaments with fire shot… A broidery of lamps that lit for y… The steadfast splendor of enduring… The moon drifts dimly in the heave…
The moon is a charring ember Dying into the dark; Off in the crouching mountains Coyotes bark. The stars are heavy in heaven,
For W. P. The little park was filled with pe… The walks were carpeted with snow, But every iron gate was locked. Lest if we entered, peace would go…
In my heart the old love Struggled with the new, It was ghostly waking All night through. Dear things, kind things
Oh in the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart Of a satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang
Oh if I were the velvet rose Upon the red rose vine, I’d climb to touch his window And make his casement fine. And if I were the little bird