#AmericanWriters
Blue, blue is the grass about the… And the willows have overfilled th… And within, the mistress, in the m… White, white of face, hesitates, p… Slender, she puts forth a slender…
Io! Io! Tamuz! The Dryad staiids in my court-yar… With plaintive, querulous crying. (Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!) Oh, no, she is not crying: ‘Tamuz…
I can not bow to woo thee With honey words and flower kisses And the dew of sweet half—truths Fallen on the grass of old quaint… Of broidered days foredone.
Let us build here an exquisite fri… The flame, the autumn, and the gre… Fought out their strife here, ’tis… Where these have been, meet ’tis,…
Turned from the 'eau-forte Par Jaquemart’ To the strait head Of Messalina: ‘His true Penelope
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
Lord God of heaven that with merc… Th’alternate prayer wheel of the n… Eternal hath to thee, and in whose… Our days as rain drops in the sea… As bright white drops upon a leade…
What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross What thou lov’st well shall not be… What thou lov’st well is thy true…
What if I know thy speeches word… And if thou knew’st I knew them w… What if I know thy speeches word… And all the time thou sayest them… ‘Lo, one there was who bent her fa…
This man knew out the secret ways… No man could paint such things who… And now she’s gone, who was his C… And you are here, who are ‘The Is… And here’s the thing that lasts th…
The jewelled steps are already qui… It is so late that the dew soaks m… And I let down the crystal curtai… And watch the moon through the cle…
“'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…
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…
As a bathtub lined with white porc… When the hot water gives out or go… So is the slow cooling of our chiv… O my much praised but-not-altogeth…
The West a glimmering lake of lig… A dream of pearly weather, The first of stars is burning whit… The star we watch together. Is April dead? The unresting year