#AmericanWriters
Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,
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,
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
With swift Great sweep of her Magnificent arm my pain Clanged back the doors that shut m… From life.
Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;
Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast; Oh they were fain to rest,
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land. .alack The little people in the hills Will die!
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;
The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of… Just dead.
The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.