#AmericanWriters
So may you sleep alway, My baby, my dear son: Amen, Amen, Amen. My baby, my dear son.
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!
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…
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.
Was it love breathed on us as on t… Dawn breathes for a short space an… Or loved we never at all who but m… With too dim vision the guarded my… Were we unfaithful or were we unwi…
You nor I nor nobody knows Where our daily-taken breath Vanisheth and vanisheth: Where our lost breath’s flying goe… You nor I nor nobody knows.
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore. Have you seen Angelique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find,
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
Ere the horne’d owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there sh… Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away,
The morning is new and the skies a… The day cometh in with the sun and… Hasten, belov’ed! For see, while you were yet sleepi… The cool and virgin feet of dawn w…