#AmericanWriters
These tales of old disguisings, ar… Strange myths of souls that found… Unwonted folk that spake an hostil… Some soul from all the rest who’d… The star—span acres of a former lo…
Did I ’ear it ’arf in a doze: The Co-ops was a goin’ somewhere, Did I 'ear it while pickin’ 'ops; How they better start takin’ care, That the papers were gettin’ toget…
Your songs? Oh! The little mothers Will sing them in the twilight, And when the night Shrinketh the kiss of the dawn
What is to come we know not. But… That what has been was good—was go… Better to hide, and best of all to… We are the masters of the days tha… We have lived, we have loved, we h…
The Sword Singing - The voice of the Sword from the h… Clanging imperious Forth from Time’s battlements
For the seven lakes, and by no man… Rain; empty river; a voyage, Fire from frozen cloud, heavy rain… Under the cabin roof was one lante… The reeds are heavy; bent;
“'Tis but a vague, invarious delig… As gold that rains about some buri… As the fine flakes, When tourists frolicking Stamp on his roof or in the glazin…
The gods are dead? Perhaps they a… Living at least in Lempriere unde… The wise, the fair, the awful, the… Are one and all. I like to think,… In some still land of lilacs and t…
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,
The baby new to earth and sky Has never until now Unto himself the question put Or asked us if the cow Is higher in the mental scale
WIND Scarce and thin, scarce and thin The government’s excuse, Never at all will they do Aught of the slightest use.
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…
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…
Suddenly discovering in the eyes o… Normande cocotte The eyes of the very learned Brit…
Who am I to condemn you, O Dives… I who am as much embittered With poverty As you are with useless riches?
