#AmericanWriters
The princess has her lovers, A score of knights has she, And each can sing a madrigal, And praise her gracefully. But Love that is so bitter
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 gave my life to another lover, I gave my love, and all, and all— But over a dream the past will hov… Out of a dream the past will call. I tear myself from sleep with a sh…
“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.” Said the wind from out the south,
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…
When I can make my thoughts come… To walk like ladies up and down, Each one puts on before the glass Her most becoming hat and gown. But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
Evening, and all the birds In a chorus of shimmering sound Are easing their hearts of joy For miles around. The air is blue and sweet,
The birds are all a-building, They say the world’s a-flower, And still I linger lonely Within a barren bower. I weave a web of fancies
Like barley bending In low fields by the sea, Singing in hard wind Ceaselessly; Like barley bending
It will not change now After so many years; Life has not broken it With parting or tears; Death will not alter it,
What can I give you, my lord, my… You who have given the world to me… Showed me the light and the joy th… The wild sweet earth and the restl… All that I have are gifts of your…
I made a hundred little songs That told the joy and pain of love… And sang them blithely, tho’ I kn… No whit thereof. I was a weaver deaf and blind;
Were you a Greek when all the wor… Before the weary years that pass a… Had scattered all the temples on t… Before the moss to marble columns… I think your snowy tunic must have…
So soon my body will have gone Beyond the sound and sight of men, And tho’ it wakes and suffers now, Its sleep will be unbroken then; But oh, my frail immortal soul
Willow in your April gown Delicate and gleaming, Do you mind in years gone by All my dreaming? Spring was like a call to me