#AmericanWriters
In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.
Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
He comes from Mass early in the m… The sky’s the very blue Madonna w… The air’s alive with gold! Mark y… The birds sing and the dusted shim… On leaf and fruit?..Per Bacco, wh…
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
White doves of Cytherea, by your… Across the blue Heaven’s bluest h… And by your certain homing to Lov… Still to be true and ever true -…
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
Have yet forgot, sweet birds, How near the heaven’s lie? Drooping, sick-pinion’d, oh Have yet forgot the sky? The air that once I knew
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
Fate Defied As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -