#Americans
Do you know the way that goes Over fields of rue and rose, Warm of scent and hot of hue, Roofed with heaven’s bluest blue, To the Vale of Dreams Come True?
Upon the mossed rock by the spring She sits, forgetful of her pail, Lost in remote remembering Of that which may no more avail. Her thin, pale hair is dimly dress…
There is a hall in every house, Behind whose wainscot gnaws the mo… Along whose sides are empty rooms, Peopled with dreams and ancient do… When down this hall you take your…
Pale as a star that shines through… Her face was seen at the window-pa… Her sad, frail face that watched i… The face of a girl whose brow was… To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn…
My nurse she tells me stories, too… To make me good, she says; but I She scares me so! I want to cry: And if my father ever knew, I guess he’d make things pretty ho…
At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stoo… My sweetheart who had died. But so unchanged was she, meseemed
THERE is a smell of roses in the… Tea-roses, dead of bloom; An invalid, she sits there in the… And contemplates her doom. The pattern of the paper, and the…
Sleep is a spirit, who beside us s… Or through our frames like some di… From out her form a pearly light i… As from a lily, in a lily-bed, A firefly’s gleam. Her face is pa…
Ever since man was man a Fiend ha… Outside his House of Good, War, with his terrible toys, that… To follow murderous arts. His spurs, death-won, are but of l…
Whether it be that we in letters t… The pure exactness of a wood bird’… And name it song; or with the brus… The high perfection of a wildflowe… Or mold in difficult marble all th…
Love one day, in childish anger, Tired of his divinity, Sick of rapture, sick of languor, Threw his arrows in the sea. Since then Ocean, like a woman,
A tranquil bar Of rosy twilight under dusk’s firs… A glimmering sound Of whispering waters over grassy g… A sun-sweet smell
Why speak of Rajah rubies, And roses of the South? I know a sweeter crimson A baby’s mouth. Why speak of Sultan sapphires
She passed the thorn-trees, whose… Their spider-shadows round her; an… Beneath the ashen moon, was full o… And mouthed and mumbled to the sic… Like some starved hag who sees her…
Who knows the things they dream, a… Or feel, who lie beneath the groun… Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, a… That close them round. In spring the violets may spell