#AmericanWriters
Whistle under the water, Make the water bubble to the tones… I call the bluebirds song into the… Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee! Dawn is coming,
A great tall column spearing at th… With a little man on top. Goodnes… He looks a silly thing enough to s… What a strange fellow, like a sold… Tight-fitting coat with the tails…
What charm is yours, you faded old… Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of d… And we, pushing and fighting in th… Of modern life, find solace in you…
On winter nights beside the nurser… We read the fairy tale, while glow… Builded its pictures. There befor… We saw the vaulted hall of traceri… Uprear itself, the distant ceiling…
ONCE, in the sultry heat of mids… An Emperor caused the miniature m… To be covered with white silk, That so crowned, They might cool his eyes
All day long I have been working, Now I am tired I call: “Where are you?” But there is only the oak-tree rus… The house is very quiet,
Blue and pink sashes, Criss-cross shoes, Minna and Stella run out into the… To play at hoop. Up and down the garden-paths they…
Over the shop where silk is sold Still the dragon kites are flying.
How should I sing when buffeting… And stung with bitter surges, in w… I toss, a cockleshell? The dreadf… Marshals its undefeated dark and r… In brutal madness, reeling over gr…
Between us leapt a gold and scarle… Into the hollow of the cupped, arc… Of Heaven it rose. Its flickering… And vanished in the sunshine. How… We guessed not, nor what thing cou…
In the brown water, Thick and silver-sheened in the su… Liquid and cool in the shade of th… A pike dozed. Lost among the shadows of stems
Some men there are who find in nat… Their inspiration, hers the sympat… Which spurs them on to any great e… To them the fields and woods are c… And they hold dear communion with…
Dance! Dance! The priest is yellow with sunflowe… He is yellow with corn-meal, He is yellow as the sun.
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our h… The end lost in dream, They float past our view,
Little cramped words scrawling all… Like draggled fly’s legs, What can you tell of the flaring m… Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncertain window and theb…