#AmericanWriters
See, they return; ah, see the tent… Movements, and the slow feet, The trouble in the pace and the un… Wavering! See, they return, one by one,
Half a loaf, half a loaf, Half a loaf? Urn-hum? Down through the vale of gloom Slouched the ten million, Onward th’ 'ungry blokes,
The thought of what America would… If the Classics had a wide circul… Troubles my sleep, The thought of what America, The thought of what America,
Young men riding in the street In the bright new season Spur without reason Causing their steeds to leap. And at the pace they keep
I had over prepared the event, that much was ominous. With middle—ageing care I had laid out just the right book… I had almost turned down the pages…
These fought in any case, and some believing pro domo, in any case ..... Died some, pro patria, walked eye—deep in hell
With minds still hovering above th… Certain poets here and in France Still sigh over established and na… Long since fully discussed by Ovi… They howl. They complain in delic…
Her grave, sweet haughtiness Pleaseth me, and in like wise Her quiet ironies. Others are beautiful, none more, s… I suppose, when poetry comes down…
Trees and the menace of night; Then a long, lonely, leaden mere Backed by a desolate fell, As by a spectral battlement; and t… Low-brooding, interpenetrating all…
A dainty thing’s the Villanelle. Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme, It serves its purpose passing well… A doublc-clappered silver bell That must be made to clink in chim…
The very small children in patched… Being smitten with an unusual wisd… Stopped in their play as she passe… And cried up from their cobbles: Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!
To one, on returning certain years… You wore the same quite correct cl… You took no pleasure at all in my… You had the same old air of condes… Mingled with a curious fear
The surges gushed and sounded, The blue was the blue of June, And low above the brightening east Floated a shred of moon. The woods were black and solemn,
Thy soul Grown delicate with satieties, Atthis. O Atthis, I long for thy lips.
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.
