#AmericanWriters
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
I make my shroud, but no one knows… So shimmering fine it is and fair, With stitches set in even rows, I make my shroud, but no one knows… In door-way where the lilac blows,
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’
Heard ye the maidens Went through the meadows, Early, O, early, While yet the dew was Wet on the grass?
Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -
Keep thou Thy tearless watch All night but when blue-dawn Breathes on the silver moon, then… Then weep!
Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than
Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…
More dim than wining moon Thy face, mort faint Than is the falling wind Thy voice, yet do Thine eyes most strangely glow,
Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,