#AmericanWriters
Before I found her I had found Within my heart, as in a brook, Reflections of her: now a sound Of imaged beauty; now a look. So when I found her, gazing in
Why speak of Giamschid rubies Whence rosy starlight drips? I know a richer crimson, The ruby of her lips. Why speak of pearls of Oman
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…
I look about me, and behold How all is changed: The sound and… The kind, the true, the hale and o… That once made strong the features… Of life, are cast in other mold,
Here is a tale for children and th… There was a fool, a man who’d had… But missed them, somehow; lost the… Tag-ends of things with which he’d… Of his cracked head, as panes are…
What is that which walks by night In flying tatters of leaves and we… When the clouds rush by like daemo… And the moon is a jack-o’-lantern… Low in the pool’s dark reeds?
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.
Tattered, in ragged raiment of the… The Night arrives. Outside the wi… He stands and, streaming, taps upo… Or, crouching down beside the cell… Letting his hat-brim drain,
Here is a tale to tell to rich rel… There was a toad, a Calibanic mon… In whose squat head ambition had e… Most bloated jewel, dear to highes… He was received, though mottled as…
So Love is dead, the Love we knew… And in the sorrow of our hearts’ h… A lute lies broken and a flower fa… Love’s house stands empty and his… Lone in dim places, where sweet vo…
Oh, I am going home again, Back to the old house in the lane, And mother! who still sits and sew… With cheeks, each one, a winter ro… A-watching for her boy, you know,
There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…
They who take courage from their o… Are victors too, no matter how muc…
When dusk is drowned in drowsy dre… And slow the hues of sunset die; When firefly and moth go by, And in still streams the new moon… Another moon and sky:
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and h… Before the Christ upon the Cross, The Nations, stricken with their… And lifting faces of despair. What is the prayer they pray to H…