#AmericanWriters
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,
‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!
Musicians O Musicians: Heartseas… Heartsease: an you will have me li… Light wind in the small green leav… Play, oh play, my sad heart ease; Birds, shake from your wilding thr…
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -
My songs to sell, sweet maid! I pray you buy. Here’s one will win a lady’s tears… Here’s one will make her gay, Here’s one will charm your true lo…
Reap, reap the grain and gather The sweet grapes from the vine; Our Lord’s mother is weeping, She hath nor bread nor wine; She is weeping. The Queen of Hea…
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.
Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I’ll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun’s Gold flood.
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.