#AmericanWriters
I am a cloud in the heaven’s heigh… The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and… I cast my shadow on hill and sea— But why do the pines on the mounta…
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,
So soon my body will have gone Beyond the sound and sight of men, And tho’ it wakes and suffers now, Its sleep will be unbroken then; But oh, my frail immortal soul
Every night I lie awake And every day I lie abed And hear the doctors, Pain and De… Confering at my head. They speak in scientific tones,
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,
I have come the selfsame path To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there Burning as before While I watch them in the wind
Deep in the night the cry of a swa… Under the stars he flew, Keen as pain was his call to follo… Over the world to you. Love in my heart is a cry forever
I built a little House of Dreams, And fenced it all about, But still I heard the Wind of Tr… That roared without. I laid a fire of Memories
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.
I stood beside a hill Smooth with new-laid snow, A single star looked out From the cold evening glow. There was no other creature
I said, “I have shut my heart As one shuts an open door, That Love may starve therein And trouble me no more.” But over the roofs there came
Your mind and mine are such great… Have freed themselves from cautiou… And on wild clouds of thought, nak… They ride above us in extreme deli… We see them, we look up with a lon…
The dearest child in all the world… Should have the dearest songs, And that is why this little book To David-Boy belongs.
They never saw my lover’s face, They only know our love was brief, Wearing awhile a windy grace And passing like an autumn leaf. They wonder why I do not weep,
Before a lonely shrine Of foam-born Aphrodite, Ungarlanded of vine, Undyed by dripping wine, I brought green bay to twine,
