#AmericanWriters
I love too much; I am a river Surging with spring that seeks the… I am too generous a giver, Love will not stoop to drink of me… His feet will turn to desert place…
I am wild, I will sing to the tre… I will sing to the stars in the sk… I love, I am loved, he is mine, Now at last I can die! I am sandaled with wind and with f…
I WATCH the great clear twiligh… Veiling the ice-bowed trees; Their branches tinkle faintly With crystal melodies. The larches bend their silver
Now while my lips are living Their words must stay unsaid, And will my soul remember To speak when I am dead? Yet if my soul remembered
One by one, like leaves from a tre… All my faiths have forsaken me; But the stars above my head Burn in white and delicate red, And beneath my feet the earth
STEELY stars and moon of brass, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon… Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tr…
When I am dead and over me bright… Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you shall lean above me bro… I shall not care. I shall have peace, as leafy trees…
If I can bear your love like a la… When I go down the long steep Roa… I shall not fear the everlasting s… Nor cry in terror. If I can find out God, then I sh…
They spoke of him I love With cruel words and gay; My lips kept silent guard On all I could not say. I heard, and down the street
I THOUGHT of you when I was wa… By a wind that made me glad and af… Of the rushing, pouring sound of t… That the great trees made. One thought in my mind went over a…
I have loved hours at sea, gray ci… The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill,
I cannot heed the words they say, The lights grow far away and dim, Amid the laughing men and maids My eyes unbidden seek for him. I hope that when he smiles at me
Crisply the bright snow whispered, Crunching beneath our feet; Behind us as we walked along the p… Our shadows danced, Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
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
(In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.) HE was a soldier in that fight Where there is neither flag nor dr… And without sound of musketry The stealthy foemen come.
