#AmericanWriters
The rain and the wind, the wind an… They are with us like a disease: They worry the heart, they work th… As they shoulder and clutch at the… And savage the helpless trees.
The Spirit of Wine Sang in my glass, and I listened With love to his odorous music, His flushed and magnificent song. —'I am health, I am heart, I am l…
‘Tis Evanoe’s, A house not made with hands, But out somewhere beyond the world… Her gold is spread, above, around,… Strange ways and walls are fashion…
I even I, am he who knoweth the r… Through the sky, and the wind ther… I have beheld the Lady of Life, I, even I, who fly with the swall… Green and gray is her raiment,
You’d have men’s hearts up from th… And tell their secrets, Messire C… Rigkt enough? Then read between t… Solve me the riddle, for you know… Bertrans, En Bertrans, left a fin…
I see by the morning papers That America’s sturdy sons Have started a investigation Of the making of guns. The morning paper tells me
The greater masters of the commonp… REMBRANDT and good SIR WA… Could paint her all to you: experi… And antique liveliness and pondero… The sweet old roses of her sunken…
At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:
Come, my songs, let us speak of pe… We shall get ourselves rather disl… Ah yes, my songs, let us resurrect The very excellent term Rusticus. Let us apply it in all its opprobr…
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…
A square, squat room (a cellar on… Drab to the soul, drab to the very… Plasters astray in unnatural-looki… Scissors and lint and apothecary’s… Here, on a bench a skeleton would…
As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.
Candidia has taken a new lover And three poets are gone into mour… The first has written a long elegy… To ‘Chloris chaste and cold,’ his… The second has written a sonnet
The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone.
When the Taihaitian princess Heard that he had decided, She rushed out into the sunlight a… cocoanut palm tree, But he returned to this island
