#AmericanWriters
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
Great Kings were dust and all the… Did my harp’s taut and burnished s… The fragrance of dead ladies’ love… Blew never down but for my lute.
Not spring’s Thou art, but hers, Most cool, most virginal, Winter’s, with thy faint breath, t… Rose-tinged.
Ere the horne’d owl hoot Once and twice and thrice there sh… Go among the blind brown worms News of thy great burial; When the pomp is passed away,
The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.
For Aubrey Beardsley’s picture Pierrot is dying: Tiptoe in, Finger touched to lip, Harlequin,
Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
My songs to sell, sweet maid! I pray you buy. Here’s one will win a lady’s tears… Here’s one will make her gay, Here’s one will charm your true lo…
What words Are left thee then Who hast squandered on thy Forgetfulness eternity’s I Love?
When I was girl by Nilus stream I watched the deserts stars arise; My lover, he who dreamed the Sphi… Learned all his dreaming from eyes… I bore in Greece a burning name,
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
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…
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…