#AmericanWriters
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,
When I can make my thoughts come… To walk like ladies up and down, Each one puts on before the glass Her most becoming hat and gown. But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
For W. P. The little park was filled with pe… The walks were carpeted with snow, But every iron gate was locked. Lest if we entered, peace would go…
My answered prayer came up to me, And in the silence thus spake he: “O you who prayed for me to come, Your greeting is but cold and dumb… My heart made answer: “You are fa…
“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,
I shall gather myself into myself… I shall take my scattered selves a… Fusing them into a polished crysta… Where I can see the moon and the… I shall sit like a sibyl, hour aft…
I heard a cry in the night, A thousand miles it came, Sharp as a flash of light, My name, my name! It was your voice I heard,
Peace flows into me As the tide to the pool by the sho… It is mine forevermore, It ebbs not back like the sea. I am the pool of blue
I am alone, in spite of love, In spite of all I take and give’… In spite of all your tenderness, Sometimes I am not glad to live. I am alone, as though I stood
OH, I could let the world go by, Its loud new wonders and its wars, But how will I give up the sky When winter dusk is set with stars… And I could let the cities go,
IF I must go to heaven’s end Climbing the ages like a stair, Be near me and forever bend With the same eyes above me there; Time will fly past us like leaves…
Lyric night of the lingering Indi… Shadowy fields that are scentless… Never a bird, but the passionless… Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far of…
I have remembered beauty in the ni… Against black silences I waked to… A shower of sunlight over Italy And green Ravello dreaming on her… I have remembered music in the dar…
In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever, clear-eyed daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barre…
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,