#AmericanWriters
The salmon-trout drifts in the str… The soul of the salmon-trout float… Like a little wafer of light. The salmon moves in the sun-shot,… As light as the shadow of the fish
Towards the Noel that morte saiso… (Christ make the shepherds’ homage… Then when the grey wolves everycho… Drink of the winds their chill sma… And lap o’ the snows food’s guered…
O Dieu, purifiez nos cceurs! Purifiez nos coeurs! Yea the lines hast thou laid unto… in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice
How have I laboured? How have I not laboured To bring her soul to birth, To give these elements a name and… She is beautiful as the sunlight,…
FROM CHARLES D’ORLEANS God! that mad’st her well regard h… How she is so fair and bonny; For the great charms that are upon… Ready are all folks to reward her.
Come, let us pity those who are be… Come, my friend, and remember t hat the rich have butlers… And we have friends and no butlers… Come, let us pity the married and…
We’ll go no more a-roving by the l… November glooms are barren beside… The summer flowers are faded, the… We’ll go no more a-roving, lest wo… We’ll go no more a-roving by the l…
For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old scene.Wrong from the s… No, hardly, but seeing he had been…
It rests me to be among beautiful… Why should one always lie about su… I repeat: It rests me to converse with beaut… Even though we talk nothing but no…
No man hath dared to write this th… And yet I know, how that the soul… At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and a… Save reflexions of their souls.
Nine adulteries, 12 liaisons, 64 f… Rest nightly upon the soul of our… And yet the man is so quiet and re… That he passes for both bloodless… Bastidides, on the contrary, who b…
Her little face is like a walnut s… With wrinkling lines; her soft, wh… Her withered brows in quaint, stra… And all about her clings an old, s… Prim is her gown and quakerlike he…
I do not choose to dream; there co… Some strange old lust for deeds. As to the nerveless hand of some o… The sword—hilt or the war—worn won… Brings momentary life and long—fle…
This lady in the white bath-robe w… peignoir, Is, for the time being, the mistre… And the delicate white feet of her… Are not more delicate than she is,
The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone.
