#AmericanWriters
The dim-winged spirits of the nigh… Do fear and serve me well. They creep from out the hedges of The garden where I dwell. I wave my arms across the walk.
(To Eudora, after I had had ce… When Dragon-fly would fix his win… When Snail would patch his house, When moths have marred the overcoa… Of tender Mister Mouse,
UNDER THE BLESSING… Though I have found you llke a sn… On sunny days have found you weak… Though I have often held your gir… Drooped on my shoulder, faint from…
This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presum...
[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…
[Written while a field-worker i… King Arthur’s men have come again… They challenge everywhere The foes of Christ’s Eternal Chu… Her incense crowns the air.
Think not that incense-smoke has h… My friends, the incense-time has b… Creed upon creed, cult upon cult s… Shrine after shrine grow gray bene… And mountain-boulders in our aged…
(What the Mendicant Said ) The moon’s a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky. His strength is that of heaven-vow… Who all life’s flames defy.
I was but a half-grown boy, You were a girl-child slight. Ah, how weary you were! You had led in the bullock-fight..… We slew the bullock at length
Would that the lying rulers of the… Were brought to block for tyrannie… Would that the sword of Cromwell… The sword of Joshua and Gideon, Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of…
Where now the huts are empty, Where never a camp-fire glows, In an abandoned cañon, A Gambler’s Ghost arose. He muttered there, “The moon’s a…
The moon’s a steaming chalice, Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers,
Hungry for music with a desperate… I prowled abroad, I threaded thro… The evening crowd was clamoring an… Vulgar and pitiful—my heart bowed… Till I remembered duller hours ma…
In a nation of one hundred fine, m… There are plenty of sweeping, swin… And knock your old blue devils out… I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan,… Candidate for president who sketch…
To be intoned, all but the two… Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables,