#AmericanWriters
One night I lingered in the wood And saw a spirit-form that stood Among the wildflowers. Like the d… It twinkled; partly wind and scent… Then down a moonbeam there it blew…
Summer may come, in sun-blonde spl… To reap the harvest that Springti… And Fall lead in her old defender… Winter, all huddled up in snows: Ever a-south the love-wind blows
September On Cape Ann The partridge-berry flecks with fl… That leads to ferny hollows where… Drones on the aster. Far away the… Points its deep sapphire with a gl…
Sweet lies! the sweetest ever hear… To her he said: Her heart remembers every word Now he is dead. I ask:' If thus his lies can make
Through ferns and moss the path wo… A hollow where the touchmenots Swung horns of honey filled with d… And where like foot-prints violets… And bluets made sweet sapphire blo…
Success allures us in the earth an… We seek to win her, but, too amoro… Mocking, she flees us. Haply, wer… We would not strive and she would…
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 music of immaculate lov… That beats within the virgin veins… And trillium blossoms, like the st… To fairies’ wands; and, strung on… White-hearts and mandrake blooms t…
An Oldham-County Weather Philoso… ‘Who is Corncob Jones?’ you say. Beateningest man and talkingest: Talk and talk th’ enduring day, Never even stop to rest,
One well might deem, among these m… Such were the Forests of the Holy… Broceliand and Dean; where, cloth… The Knights of Arthur rode, and a… Of legend laired. And, where no s…
An evil, stealthy water, dark as h… Sunk from the light of day, ‘Thwart which is hung a ruined wat… Creeps on its stagnant way. Moss and the spawny duckweed, dim…
The white moth-mullein brushed its… Cool, faery flowers against his kn… In places where the way lay dim The branches, arching suddenly, Made tomblike mystery for him.
The scent of dittany was hot. Its smell intensified the heat: Into his brain it seemed to beat With memories of a day forgot, When she walked with him through t…
The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, st… Croaks open; and harsh wagon-wheel… Creaking through cold; the horses’… Around their nostrils; and with sn… The hut is barely seen, from which…
NIGHT, they say, is no man’s fri… And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strod… Through the blackness of the road,