#AmericanWriters
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.
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
‘There’s be no roof to shelter you… You’ll have no where to lay your h… And who will get your food for you… Star-dust pays for no man’s bread. So, Jacky, come give me your fidd…
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
Have yet forgot, sweet birds, How near the heaven’s lie? Drooping, sick-pinion’d, oh Have yet forgot the sky? The air that once I knew
Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.
Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?