#AmericanWriters
[What the Man of Faith said]… The dew, the rain and moonlight All prove our Father’s mind. The dew, the rain and moonlight Descend to bless mankind.
Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you
UNDER THE BLESSING… Though I have found you llke a sn… On sunny days have found you weak… Though I have often held your gir… Drooped on my shoulder, faint from…
Sometimes we remember kisses, Remember the dear heart-leap when… Not always, but sometimes we remem… The kindness, the dumbness, the go… Of laughter and farewell.
No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget.
[Written for a picture] The Youth speaks:—: “Why do you seek the sun In your bubble-crown ascending? Your chariot will melt to mist.
Friends, I will not cease hoping… Such things I see, and some of th… Though now or streets are harsh an… Though our strong youths are strid… Friends, that sweet town, that won…
[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…
When Yankee soldiers reach the ba… Then Joan of Arc gives each the a… For she is there in armor clad, to… All the young poets of the wide wo… Which of our freemen did she greet…
The wide Pacific waters And the Atlantic meet. With cries of joy they mingle, In tides of love they greet. Above the drowned ages
(IN THE BEGINNING) The sun is a huntress young, The sun is a red, red joy, The sun is an indian girl, Of the tribe of the Illinois.
‘There’s machinery in the butterfl… There’s a mainspring to the bee; There’s hydraulics to a daisy, And contraptions to a tree. ‘If we could see the birdie
Upon her breast her hands and hair Were tangled all together. The moon of June forbade me not '… The golden night time weather In balmy sighs commanded me
The arts are old, old as the stone… From which man carved the sphinx a… Deep are the days the old arts bri… Ten thousand years of yesteryear. She is madonna in an art
MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS (On hearing she was leaving the… Mary Pickford, doll divine, Year by year, and every day At the movmg-picture play,