#AmericanWriters
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
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…
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
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,
Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.
Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;
Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly’… Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
Guardian Of The Treasure Of Sol… And Keeper Of the Prophet’s Armo… My tent A vapour that The wind dispels and but
Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:
Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.