#AmericanWriters
Francesca’s life that was a limpid… Agleam against the shimmer of a sw… Which falling, quenched the flame… To free the house of Rimino from… Francesca’s death that blazed alof…
Let it be forgotten, as a flower i… Forgotten as a fire that once was… Let it be forgotten forever and ev… Time is a kind friend, he will mak… If anyone asks, say it was forgott…
Oh you are coming, coming, coming, How will hungry Time put by the h… But why does it anger my heart to… For one man out of the world of me… Oh I would live in myself only
Look back with longing eyes and kn… Lift me up in your love as a light… Let our flight be far in sun or wi… But what if I heard my first love… Hold me on your heart as the brave…
Were you a Greek when all the wor… Before the weary years that pass a… Had scattered all the temples on t… Before the moss to marble columns… I think your snowy tunic must have…
Did you never know, long ago, how… That your love would never lessen… You were young then, proud and fre… You were too young to know. Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly…
The beast to the beast is calling, And the soul bends down to wait; Like the stealthy lord of the jung… The white man calls his mate. The beast to the beast is calling,
I think the moon is very kind To take such trouble just for me. He came along with me from home To keep me company. He went as fast as I could run;
IN the pull of the wind I stand,… On the deck of a ship, rising, fal… Wild night around me, wild water u… Whipped by the storm, screaming an… Earth is hostile and the sea hosti…
The kings they came from out the s… All dressed in ermine fine; They bore Him gold and chrysopras… And gifts of precious wine. The shepherds came from out the no…
When the long day goes by And I do not see your face, The old wild, restless sorrow Steals from its hiding place. My day is barren and broken,
I WATCH the great clear twiligh… Veiling the ice-bowed trees; Their branches tinkle faintly With crystal melodies. The larches bend their silver
The world is tired, the year is ol… The little leaves are glad to die, The wind goes shivering with cold Among the rushes dry. Our love is dying like the grass,
The moon is a charring ember Dying into the dark; Off in the crouching mountains Coyotes bark. The stars are heavy in heaven,
It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, But only a hush of the heart