#Americans #Women
In the cold I will rise, I will b… In waters of ice; myself Will shiver, and shrive myself, Alone in the dawn, and anoint Forehead and feet and hands;
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…
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.
For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
Wouldst thou find my ashes? Look In the pages of my book; And as these thy hand doth turn, Know here is my funeral urn.
The poet pursues his beautiful the… The preacher his golden beatitude; And I run after a vanishing dream… The glittering, will-o’-the-wispis… Of the properly scholarly attitude…
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
And the centurion who stood by sai… Truly this was a son of God. Not long ago but everywhere I go There is a hill and a black windy… Portent of hill, sky, day’s eclips…
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than
Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.
Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still
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…