#AmericanWriters
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
Lo, All the Way, Look you, I said, the clouds will… Grow clear, the road Be easier for my travelling the fi… So sodden and dead,
The immemorial grief of all years Burdes my heart sorely, and the ye… Of slow eternal crying stain my ch… Forever and forever my soul speaks Saying: I am thy self: Look on me…
Hear thou my lamentation, Eros, Aphrodite’s son! My heart is broken and my days are… Where the woods are dark and the s… Eros!
Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
So may you sleep alway, My baby, my dear son: Amen, Amen, Amen. My baby, my dear son.
Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
In a cave born (Mary said) In a cave is My Son buried
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
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…
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…
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -
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…