#AmericanWriters
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 -…
‘Let me be young,’ the Latmian sh… ‘And let me have on night-time hil… Whom she of Cynthus saw, Heaven’s… And gave his youth and dreams her… What news comrade upon the mountai…
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,
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
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…
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I