#AmericanWriters
There is a poetry that speaks Through common things: the grassho… That in the hot weeds creaks and c… Says all of summer to my ear: And in the cricket’s cry I hear
This is the heart’s own day: With dreaming eyes Life seems to look away Beyond the skies Into some long-gone May.
Here is a tale for infants and old… There was a man who gathered rags;… Who lived alone: with no one ever… And this old man was very fond of… His house, a ruin, so the tale reh…
The hush of death is on the night.… That loves to whisper to the wind;… That dance with it, are silent: on… No motion mid the fields, as dry a… What light is that? It cannot be…
The road leads up a hill through m… Blueberry and barberry, bay and sa… By an abandoned quarry, where, lik… A round pool lies; an isolated lak… A mirror for what presences, that…
This is the path he used to take, That ended at a rose-porched door: He takes it now for oldtime’s sake… And love of yore. The blue mertensia, by the stone,
When dusk falls cool as a rained-o… And a tawny tower the twilight sho… With the crescent moon, the silver… new moon in a space that glows, A turret window that grows alight;
OH, for some cup of consummating… Filled with life’s kind conclusion… A wine of darkness, that with deat… This sickness called existence!—O… Surcease of sorrow! quiet for the…
Hey, little boy, little boy, come… Hey, little boy, little boy, Andy… Hey, little boy, little boy, can i… Your mouth is crumbed with candy?’ ‘What’s that to you? what’s that t…
I, who went at nightfall, came aga… On Love’s door again I knocked.… He who oft had bade me in, now wou… Silence sat within his house; barr… When the slow door opened wide thr…
A cry went through the darkness; a… Hurrying through storm, gazed with… Then cloaked herself in scud: the… Of surges ceased; and then th’ Ae… Of the wild siren, Wind, within t…
Deep with divine tautology, The sunset’s mighty mystery Again has traced the scroll-like w… With hieroglyphs of burning gold: Forever new, forever old,
Love hath no place in her, Though in her bosom be Love-thoughts and dreams that stir Longings that know not me: Love hath no place in her,
Here is a tale for all who wish to… There was a thief who, in his cut-… Was hailed as chief; he had a way… Persuasion, masked, behind a weapo… That made it cockrow with each goo…
This is the place where visions co… Dreams of the trees and flowers, g… Where the white moon and the pale… Sitting with Legend and with dim… This is the place where all the si…