#AmericanWriters
He’d have given me rolling lands, Houses of marble, and billowing fa… Pearls, to trickle between my hand… Smoldering rubies, to circle my ar… You– you’d only a lilting song,
Four be the things I am wiser to… Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a… Four be the things I’d been bette… Love, curiosity, freckles, and dou… Three be the things I shall never…
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren’t lawful;
I never may turn the loop of a roa… Where sudden, ahead, the sea is ly… But my heart drags down with an an… My heart, that a second before was… I never behold the quivering rain—
“It’s queer,” she said; “I see th… As plain as I beheld it then, All silver—like and calm and brigh… We’ve not had stars like that agai… ”And she was such a gentle thing
The sun’s gone dim, and The moon’s turned black; For I loved him, and He didn’t love back.
“Then we will have tonight!” we sa… “Tomorrow– may we not be dead?” The morrow touched our eyes, and f… Us walking firm above the ground, Our pulses quick, our blood alight…
I do not like my state of mind; I’m bitter, querulous, unkind. I hate my legs, I hate my hands, I do not yearn for lovelier lands. I dread the dawn’s recurrent light…
You know the bloom, unearthly whit… That none has seen by morning ligh… The tender moon, alone, may bare Its beauty to the secret air. Who’d venture past its dark retrea…
If I had a shiny gun, I could have a world of fun Speeding bullets through the brain… Of the folk who give me pains; Or had I some poison gas,
My garden blossoms pink and white, A place of decorous murmuring, Where I am safe from August night And cannot feel the knife of Spri… And I may walk the pretty place
They say He was a serious child, And quiet in His ways; They say the gentlest lady smiled To hear the neighbors’ praise. The coffers of her heart would clo…
A dream lies dead here. May you s… Before this place, and turn away y… Nor seek to know the look of that… Importuning Life for life. Walk n… But, for a little, let your step b…
On sweet young earth where the myr… Long we lay, when the May was new… The willow was winding the moon in… The bud of the rose was told with… And now on the brittle ground I’m…
Unseemly are the open eyes That watch the midnight sheep, That look upon the secret skies Nor close, abashed, in sleep; That see the dawn drag in, unbidde…
