#AmericanWriters
Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…
‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’
Guardian Of The Treasure Of Sol… And Keeper Of the Prophet’s Armo… My tent A vapour that The wind dispels and but
O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…
Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.
Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
I make my shroud, but no one knows… So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows… In door-way where the lilac blows,
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…
The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.