#AmericanWriters
The old gate clicks, and down the… Between clove-pink and hollyhock, Still young of face though gray of… Among her garden’s flowers she goe… At evening’s close,
The path that winds by wood and st… Is not the path for me to-day; The path I take is one of dream, That leads me down a twilight way. By towns, where myths have only be…
I took the road again last night On which my boyhood’s hills look d… The old road leading from the town… The village there below the height… Its cottage homes, all huddled bro…
Ere wild-haws, looming in the gloo… Build bolted drifts of breezy bloo… And in the whistling hollow there The red-bud bends, as brown and ba… As buxom Roxy’s up-stripped arm;
Down through the woods, along the… That fords the stream; by rock and… Where in the bramble-bell the bee Swings; and through twilights gree… The redbird flashes suddenly,
There’s a little fairy who Peeps from every dropp of dew: You can see him wink and shine On the morning-glory vine, Mischief in his eye of blue.
The moth and beetle wing about The garden ways of other days; Above the hills, a fiery shout Of gold, the day dies slowly out, Like some wild blast a huntsman bl…
Behold the blossom-bosomed Day ag… With all the star-white Hours in… Laughs out of pearl-lights through… That, leaning on the woodland wild… A sprinkled amber with the showers…
Can one resolve and hunt it from o… This love, this god and fiend, tha… Of many a life, in ways no tongue… No mind divine, nor any word impar… Would not one think the slights th…
THE wind that met her in the park… Came hurrying to my side— It ran to me, it leapt to me, And nowhere would abide. It whispered in my ear a word,
So we had come at last, my soul an… Into that land of shadowy plain an… On which the dawn seemed ever abou… On which the day seemed ever about… Long had we sought fulfillment of…
This is the truth as I see it, my… Out in the wind and the rain: They who have nothing have little… Nothing to lose or to gain. Here by the road at the end o’ the…
Small twilight singer Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray,… Of dusk’s dim glimmer, How chill thy note sounds; how thy… Vibrate, soft-sighing,
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,
Each form of beauty’s but the new… Of thoughts more beautiful than fo… Sceptics, who search with unanoint… Never the Earth’s wild fairy-danc…