#AmericanWriters
Half across the world from me Lie the lands I’ll never see– I, whose longing lives and dies Where a ship has sailed away; I, that never close my eyes
Such glorious faith as fills your… Dear little friend of mine, I nev… All-innocent are you, and yet all-… (For Heaven’s sake, stop worrying… You look about, and all you see is…
Little white love, your way you’ve… Now I am left alone, alone. Little white love, my heart’s fors… (Whom shall I get by telephone?) Well do I know there’s no returni…
Love has gone a-rocketing. That is not the worst; I could do without the thing, And not be the first. Joy has gone the way it came.
You know the bloom, unearthly whit… That none has seen by morning ligh… The tender moon, alone, may bare Its beauty to the secret air. Who’d venture past its dark retrea…
Daily I listen to wonder and woe, Nightly I hearken to knave or to… Telling me stories of lava and sno… Delicate fables of ribbon and lace… Tales of the quarry, the kill, the…
And now I have another lad! No longer need you tell How all my nights are slow and sad For loving you too well. His ways are not your wicked ways,
My garden blossoms pink and white, A place of decorous murmuring, Where I am safe from August night And cannot feel the knife of Spri… And I may walk the pretty place
“It’s queer,” she said; “I see th… As plain as I beheld it then, All silver—like and calm and brigh… We’ve not had stars like that agai… ”And she was such a gentle thing
He will love you presently If you be the way you be. Send your heart a-skittering. He will stoop, and lift the thing. Be your dreams as thread, to tease
Should they whisper false of you. Never trouble to deny; Should the words they say be true, Weep and storm and swear they lie.
Who call him spurious and shoddy Shall do it o’er my lifeless body. I heartily invite such birds To come outside and say those word…
Upon the work of Walter Landor I am unfit to write with candor. If you can read it, well and good; But as for me, I never could.
The day that I was christened– It’s a hundred years, and more!- A hag came and listened At the white church door, A-hearing her that bore me
Who was there had seen us Wouldn’t bid him run? Heavy lay between us All our sires had done. There he was, a-springing