#AmericanWriters
Butler, fetch the ruby wine, Which with sudden greatness fills… Pour for me who in my spirit Fail in courage and performance; Bring the philosophic stone,
Every day brings a ship, Every ship brings a word; Well for those who have no fear, Looking seaward well assured That the word the vessel brings
The south—wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead he has no power,
Mortal mixed of middle clay, Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman
Though loath to grieve The evil time’s sole patriot, I cannot leave My honied thought For the priest’s cant,
When I was born, From all the seas of strength Fat… Saying, This be thy portion, chil… Less than a lily’s, thou shalt dai… From my great arteries; nor less,…
I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or hel… Which calls the sons of Time. Thy voice upon the deep
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic… Muffled and dumb like barefoot der… And marching single in an endless… Bring diadems and fagots in their… To each they offer gifts after his…
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit, Repeats the music of the rain; But sweeter rivers pulsing flit Through thee, as thou through the… Thou in thy narrow banks art pent:
This is he, who, felled by foes, Sprung harmless up, refreshed by b… He to captivity was sold, But him no prison—bars would hold: Though they sealed him in a rock,
Knows he who tills this lonely fie… To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn? In the long sunny afternoon,
What boots it, thy virtue, What profit thy parts, While one thing thou lackest, The art of all arts! The only credentials,
The sense of the world is short,— Long and various the report,— To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned i… And, how oft soe’er they’ve turned…
Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy… With sudden passion languishing, Maketh all things softly smile, Painteth pictures mile on mile, Holds a cup with cowslip—wreaths,
Himself it was who wrote His rank, and quartered his own co… There is no king nor sovereign sta… That can fix a hero’s rate; Each to all is venerable,