#AmericanWriters
A lonely barn, lost in a field of… A fallen fence, where partly hangs… The skies are darkening and the ho… The Indian dusk comes, red in rai… Along a path, which from a woodlan…
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
All the poppies in their beds Nodding crumpled crimson heads; And the larkspurs, in whose ears Twilight hangs, like twinkling tea… Sleepy jewels of the rain;
As one, who, journeying westward w… Beholds at length from the up-towe… Far-off, a land unspeakable beauty… Circean peaks and vales of Avalon… And, sinking weary, watches, one b…
The water-flag and wild cane grow ‘Round banks whereon the sunbeams… Fantastic gold when, on its shores… The wind sighs through the sycamor… In one green angle, just in reach,
On southern winds shot through wit… Breathing soft balm and clothed in… The lily-fingered Spring came o’e… Waking the crocus and the daffodil… O’er the cold Earth she breathed…
‘T was Fiddledeedee who put to se… With a rollicking buccaneer Bumbl… An acorn-cup was their hollow boat A rakish craft was their acorn-boa… And their sail a butterfly’s wing;
The clouds that tower in storm, th… Arterial thunder in their veins; The wildflowers lifting, shyly swe… Their perfect faces from the plain… All high, all lowly things of Ear…
Dark, drear, and drizzly, with vap… The day goes dully unto its close; Its wet robe smutches each thing i… Its fingers sully and wreck the ro… Around the railing and garden-pali…
The shadows sit and stand about it… Like uninvited guests and poor; And all the long, hot summer day The grating locust dins its rounde… In one old sycamore.
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…
The mellow smell of hollyhocks And marigolds and pinks and phlox Blends with the homely garden scen… Of onions, silvering into rods; Of peppers, scarlet with their pod…
In girandoles of gladioles The day had kindled flame; And Heaven a door of gold and pea… Unclosed when Morning, like a gir… A red rose twisted in a curl,
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…
Red-Winding from the sleepy town, One takes the lone, forgotten lane Straight through the hills. A bru… Bubbles in thorn-flowers, sweet wi… Where breezes bend the gleaming gr…