#AmericanWriters
All that could never be said, All that could never be done, Wait for us at last Somewhere back of the sun; All the heart broke to forego
All beauty calls you to me, and yo… Past twice a thousand miles of shi… To reach me. You are as the wind… Here on the ship’s sun-smitten top… With only light between the heaven…
The moon is a curving flower of go… The sky is still and blue; The moon was made for the sky to h… And I for you; The moon is a flower without a ste…
I plucked a snow-drop in the sprin… And in my hand too closely pressed… The warmth had hurt the tender thi… I grieved to see it withering. I gave my love a poppy red,
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 lift my heart as spring lifts up A yellow daisy to the rain; My heart will be a lovely cup Altho’ it holds but pain. For I shall learn from flower and…
Like barley bending In low fields by the sea, Singing in hard wind Ceaselessly; Like barley bending
PEOPLE that I meet and pass In the city’s broken roar, Faces that I lose so soon And have never found before, Do you know how much you tell
I came to the crowded Inn of Eart… And called for a cup of wine, But the Host went by with averted… From a thirst as keen as mine. Then I sat down with weariness
I understood the rest too well, And all their thoughts have come t… Clear as grey sea-weed in the swel… Of a sunny shallow sea. But you I never understood,
There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I for you. You were the wind and I the sea -
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
When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips; That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings
No one worth possessing Can be quite possessed; Lay that on your heart, My young angry dear; This truth, this hard and precious…
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