#AmericanWriters
Here is a tale for poets and for p… There was a bagpipe once, that whe… And droned vile discords, notes th… Nasal and harsh, outbraying all th… And then the thing assumed another…
Beyond the barley meads and hay, What was the light that beckoned t… That made her sweet lips smile and… ‘Oh, busk me in a gown of May, And knot red poppies in my hair.’
When I behold how some pursue Fame, that is Care’s embodiment Or fortune, whose false face looks… An humble home with sweet content Is all I ask for me and you.
In the woods, not long ago, Met with Robin Goodfellów; First we heard his horse-like laug… In an ivy-bush near by; Then we saw him, like a calf,
Like colored lanterns swung in El… Wild morning-glories light the tan… And, like the rosy rockets of the… Burns the sloped crimson of the ca…
From an ode ‘In Commemoration of… Massachusetts Bay Colony.’ The morn that breaks its heart of… Above the purple hills; The eve, that spills
The Moonshiner He leans far out and watches: Dow… The road seems but a ribbon throug… The bluff, from which he gazes, wh… Some ox-team or some horseman come…
The acorn-oak Sullens to sombre crimson all its… And where it hugely heaves A giant head dark as congested blo… The gum-tree towers, against the s…
The day, all fierce with carmine,… An Indian face towards Earth and… The west, like some gaunt vase, in… Its ashes under smouldering skies, Athwart whose bowl one red cloud s…
Dweller in hollow places, hills an… Daughter of Silence and old Solit… Tip-toe she stands within her cave… Her only life the noises that she…
Darkly October; Where the wild fo… Utters a harsh and melancholy cry; And slowly closing, far a sunset d… Day wildly glares upon.the world o… Where Twilight, with one star to…
When the poppies, with their shiel… Sentinel Forest and the harvest fields, In the bell Of a blossom, fair to see,
Wherein is it so beautiful? In all things dim and all things c… In silence, that is built of leave… And wind and spray of waterfall; And, golden as the half-ripe sheav…
She came through shade and shine, By scarlet trumpetvine And fragrant buttonbush, That heaped the wayside hush And oh!
Universes are the pages Of that book whose words are ages; Of that book which destiny Opens in eternity. There each syllable expresses