#AmericanWriters
“She can’t be unhappy,” you said, “The smiles are like stars in her… And her laughter is thistledown Around her low replies.” “Is she unhappy?” you said—
I went out on an April morning All alone, for my heart was high, I was a child of the shining meado… I was a sister of the sky. There in the windy flood of mornin…
Dreamily over the roofs The cold spring rain is falling, Out in the lonely tree A bird is calling, calling. Slowly over the earth
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
REDBIRDS, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know; Redbud, buckberry,
I gave my life to another lover, I gave my love, and all, and all— But over a dream the past will hov… Out of a dream the past will call. I tear myself from sleep with a sh…
Mary sat in the corner dreaming, Dim was the room and low, While in the dusk, the saw went sc… To and fro. Jesus and Joseph toiled together,
Like barley bending In low fields by the sea, Singing in hard wind Ceaselessly; Like barley bending
AT six o’clock of an autumn dusk With the sky in the west a rusty r… The bells of the mission down in t… Cry out that the day is dead. The first star pricks as sharp as…
They came to tell your faults to m… They named them over one by one; I laughed aloud when they were don… I knew them all so well before, - Oh, they were blind, too blind to…
I sang my songs for the rest, For you I am still; The tree of my song is bare On its shining hill. For you came like a lordly wind,
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
They sent you in to say farewell t… No, do not shake your head; I see… That shine with tears. Sappho, yo… Just now when you came hither, and… When you have left me, all the shi…
“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.” Said the wind from out the south,
Out of the delicate dream of the d… Veiled in the violet folds of the… Softly the dream grows awakening—s… Splashes of crimson, the gay bouga… High in the infinite blue of its h…