#AmericanWriters
Will people accept them? (i.e. these songs). As a timorous wench from a centaur (or a centurion), Already they flee, howling in terr…
Golden rose the house, in the port… thee, a marvel, carven in subtle s… portent. Life died down in the lam… caught at the wonder. Crimson, frosty with dew, the rose…
Sez the Times a silver lining Is what has set us pining, Montague, Montague! In the season sad and weary When our minds are very bleary,
IN o more for us the little sighi… No more the winds at twilight trou… Lo the fair dead! No more do I burn. No more for us the fluttering of w…
When I am old I will not have you look apart From me, into the cold, Friend of my heart, Nor be sad in your remembrance
Come, my songs, let us express our… Let us express our envy for the ma… You are very idle, my songs, I fear you will come to a bad end. You stand about the streets, You…
A brown, fat babe sitting in the l… And you were glad and laughing With a laughter not of this world. It is good to splash in the water And laughter is the end of all thi…
Wal, Thanksgivin’ do be comin’ ro… With the price of turkeys on the b… And coal, by gum! Thet were just… Is surely gettin’ cheaper. The winds will soon begin to howl,
A Lady asks me I speak in season She seeks reason for an affect, wi… That is so proud he hath Love for… Who denys it can hear the truth no…
Your mind and you are our Sargass… London has swept about you this sc… And bright ships left you this or… Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all… Strange spars of knowledge and dim…
The good Bellaires Do not understand the conduct of t… In fact they understood them so ba… That they have had to cross the C… Nine lawyers, four counsels, five…
It is, and is not, I am sane enou… Since you have come this place has… This fabrication built of autumn r… Then there’s a goldish colour, dif… And one gropes in these things as…
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
`Tis of my country that I would e… In hope to set some misconceptions… My country? I love it well, and t… Who, since their wit’s unknown, es… But you stuffed coats who’re neith…
Go, dumb-born book, Tell her that sang me once that so… Hadst thou but song As thou hast subjects known, Then were there cause in thee that…
