#AmericanWriters
Vivid with love, eager for greater… Out of the night we come Into the corridor, brilliant and w… A metal door slides open, And the lift receives us.
Impassioned singer of the happy ti… When all the world was waking into… And dew still glistened on the tan… And lingered on the branches of th… Oh peerless singer of the golden r…
MY heart is a garden tired with a… Heaped with bending asters and dah… In the hazy sunshine, the garden r… The drench of rains and a snow-dro… Daffodils blowing in the cold wind…
I hoped that he would love me, And he has kissed my mouth, But I am like a stricken bird That cannot reach the south. For though I know he loves me,
The shining line of motors, The swaying motor-bus, The prancing dancing horses Are passing by for us. The sunlight on the steeple,
Out of the window a sea of green t… Lift their soft boughs like the… They beckon and call me, “Come ou… But I cannot answer. I am alone with Weakness and Pain…
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.
ATOMS as old as stars, Mutation on mutation, Millions and millions of cells Dividing yet still the same, From air and changing earth,
We walked together in the dusk To watch the tower grow dimly whit… And saw it lift against the sky Its flower of amber light. You talked of half a hundred thing…
How many million Aprils came Before I ever knew How white a cherry bough could be, A bed of squills, how blue. And many a dancing April
OH to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December; Resting, as a tree rests
The sparrows wake beneath the conv… I think I have not slept the whol… But I am old; the aged scarcely k… The times they wake and sleep, for… They breathe the calm of death bef…
At midnight, when the moonlit cypr… Have woven round his grave a magic… Still weeping the unfinished hymn… There moves fresh Maia, like a mo… Blown over jonquil beds when warm…
THE sun was gone, and the moon wa… Over the blue Connecticut hills; The west was rosy, the east was fl… And over my head the swallows rush… This way and that, with changeful…
Only in sleep I see their faces, Children I played with when I was… Louise comes back with her brown h… Annie with ringlets warm and wild. Only in sleep Time is forgotten—
