#AmericanWriters
When I too long have looked upon… Wherein for me a brightness unobsc… Save by the mists of brightness ha… And terrible beauty not to be endu… I turn away reluctant from your li…
Set the foot down with distrust up… world—it is thin. Moles are at work beneath us; they… sub-soil With separate chambers; which at a…
We talk of taxes, and I call you… Well, such you are,—but well enoug… How thick about us root, how rankl… Those subtle weeds no man has need… That flourish through neglect, and…
Night is my sister, and how deep i… How drowned in love and weedily wa… There to be fretted by the drag an… At the tide’s edge, I lie—these t… Whose arm alone between me and the…
I had a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within; And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said…
“Inert Perfection, let me chip yo… You cannot break it through with t… What if you broke it never, and it… You should not issue thence, shoul… Perfection in the egg, a fluid thi…
Ah, could I lay me down in this l… And close my eyes, and let the qui… Blow over me—I am so tired, so ti… Of passing pleasant places! All m… Following Care along the dusty ro…
No rose that in a garden ever grew… In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in min… Though buried under centuries of f… Dead dust of roses, shut from sun… Forever, and forever lost from vie…
And if I loved you Wednesday, Well, what is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - So much is true. And why you come complaining
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain,— Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane,
Let us abandon then our gardens an… And sit in the sitting-room Shall the larkspur blossom or the… Sour to the fruitful seed Is the cold earth under this cloud…
Only until this cigarette is ended… A little moment at the end of all, While on the floor the quiet ashes… And in the firelight to a lance ex… Bizarrely with the jazzing music b…
I shall go back again to the bleak… And build a little shanty on the s… In such a way that the extremest b… Of brittle seaweed shall escape my… But by a yard or two; and nevermor…
There will be rose and rhododendro… When you are dead and under ground… Still will be heard from white syr… Heavy with bees, a sunny sound; Still will the tamaracks be rainin…
What should I be but a prophet an… Whose mother was a leprechaun, who… Teethed on a crucifix and cradled… What should I be but the fiend’s… And who should be my playmates but…
