#AmericanWriters
IF I could keep my innermost Me Fearless, aloof and free Of the least breath of love or hat… And not disconsolate At the sick load of sorrow laid on…
REMEMBER me as I was then; Turn from me now, but always see The laughing shadowy girl who stoo… At midnight by the flowering tree, With eyes that love had made as br…
Brown Thrush singing all day long In the leaves above me, Take my love this little song, “Love me, love me, love me!” When he harkens what you say,
Strephon kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me And never kissed at all. Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
I turned the key and opened wide t… To enter my deserted room again, Where thro’ the long hot months th… Was it not lonely when across the… No step was heard, no sudden song…
DAY, you have bruised and beaten… As rain beats down the bright, pro… Beaten my body, bruised my soul, Left me nothing lovely or whole— Yet I have wrested a gift from yo…
I made a hundred little songs That told the joy and pain of love… And sang them blithely, tho’ I kn… No whit thereof. I was a weaver deaf and blind;
HOW many times we must have met Here on the street as strangers do… Children of chance we were, who pa… The door of heaven and never knew.
Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the ta… Where the window-lights, myriads a… Bloom from the walls like climbing…
SINCE there is no escape, since… My body will be utterly destroyed, This hand I love as I have loved… This body I tended, wept with and… Since there is no escape even for…
You bound strong sandals on my fee… You gave me bread and wine, And sent me under sun and stars, For all the world was mine. Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
My soul lives in my body’s house, And you have both the house and he… But sometimes she is less your own Than a wild, gay adventurer; A restless and an eager wraith,
I said, “My youth is gone Like a fire beaten out by the rain… That will never sway and sing Or play with the wind again.” I said, “It is no great sorrow
“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.” Said the wind from out the south,
The princess has her lovers, A score of knights has she, And each can sing a madrigal, And praise her gracefully. But Love that is so bitter