#Americans
GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720 The wind it wailed, the wind it mo… And the white caps flecked the sea… “An’ I would to God,” the skipper… “I had not my boy with me!
E knew it would rain, for all the… A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets do… Into the vapory amethyst. Of marshes and swamps and dismal f…
Enamored architect of airy rhyme, Build as thou wilt, heed not what… Good souls, but innocent of dreame… Will come, and marvel why thou was… Others, beholding how thy turrets…
I leave behind me the elm-shadowed… And carven portals of the silent s… And wander on with listless, vagra… Through seaward-leading alleys, ti… Smells of the sea, and straightway…
Thou singest by the gleaming isles… By woods, and fields of corn, Thou singest, and the sunlight smi… Upon my birthday morn. But I within a city, I,
A soldier of the Cromwell stamp, With sword and psalm-book by his s… At home alike in church and camp: Austere he lived, and smileless di… But she, a creature soft and fine–
A man should live in a garret aloo… And have few friends, and go poorl… With an old hat stopping the chink… To keep the Goddess constant and… Of old, when I walked on a rugged…
Now there was one who came in late… To play at Emperor: in the dead o… Stole crown and sceptre, and stood… In sudden purple. The dawn’s stra… Showed Paris fettered, murmuring…
MASKS BLACK Tragedy lets slip her gri… And shows you laughing lips and ro… But when, unmasked, gay Comedy ap… How wan her cheeks are, and what h…
“The Southern Transept, hardly kn… DEAN STANLEY Tread softly here; the sacredest o… Are those that hold your poets. K… Are facile accidents of Time and…
Not in the fabled influence of som… Benign or evil, do our fortunes li… We are the arbiters of destiny, Lords of the life we either make o… We are our own impediment and bar
I know not in what fashion she was… Nor what her voice was, when she u… Nor if the silken lashes threw a s… On wan or rosy cheek. I picture her with sorrowful vague…
While yet my lip was breathing you… I all too young to know their deep… I saw Medea and Phædra in Rache… Later I saw the great Elizabeth. Rachel, Ristori—we shall speak wi…
The sky is gray as gray may be, There is no bird upon the bough, There is no leaf on vine or tree. In the Neponset marshes now Willow-stems, rosy in the wind,
It was with doubt and trembling I whispered in her ear. Go, take her answer, bird-on-bough… That all the world may hear— _Sweetheart, sigh no more_!