#AmericanWriters
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind That blows across the sea. And I shall meet a fisherman Out of Capri, And he will say, seeing me,
Heap not on this mound Roses that she loved so well: Why bewilder her with roses, That she cannot see or smell? She is happy where she lies
Let us abandon then our gardens an… And sit in the sitting-room Shall the larkspur blossom or the… Sour to the fruitful seed Is the cold earth under this cloud…
As I sat down by Saddle Stream To bathe my dusty feet there, A boy was standing on the bridge Any girl would meet there. As I went over Woody Knob
Let you not say of me when I am o… In pretty worship of my withered h… Forgetting who I am, and how the… Of such a life as mine run red and… Even to the ultimate sifting dust,…
“Heaven bless the babe!” they said… “What queer books she must have re… (Love, by whom I was beguiled, Grant I may not bear a child.) “Little does she guess to-day
There was a road ran past our hous… Too lovely to explore. I asked my mother once—she said That if you followed where it led It brought you to the milk-man’s d…
Love, though for this you riddle m… And drag me at your chariot till… Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of… Yet hear me tell how in their thro… Who shout you mighty: thick about…
Make bright the arrows Gather the shields: Conquest narrows The peaceful fields. Stock well the quiver
Love has gone and left me and the… Eat I must, and sleep I will,—and… here! But ah!—to lie awake and hear the… Would that it were day again!—with…
We were very tired, we were very m… We had gone back and forth all nig… It was bare and bright, and smelle… But we looked into a fire, we lean… We lay on the hill-top underneath…
These wet rocks where the tide has… Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful… These wet rocks where the tide wen… Will show again when the tide is h…
Once from a big, big building, When I was small, small, The queer folk in the windows Would smile at me and call. And in the hard wee gardens
Read by the poet at The Public C… of Arts and Letters at Carnegie… Great Muse, that from this hall a… Hast never been, Great Muse of Song,
There will be rose and rhododendro… When you are dead and under ground… Still will be heard from white syr… Heavy with bees, a sunny sound; Still will the tamaracks be rainin…
