#AmericanWriters
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
(1) The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew) Remember death.
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…
The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.
Too far afield thy search. Nay, t… At thine own elbow potent Memory… Thy double, and eternity is cupped In the pale hollow of those ghostl…
Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.
Grey gaolers are my griefs That will not let me free; The bitterness of tears Is warder unto me. I may not leap or run;
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
A laggard in the rear of time’s sw… And one who loiters on an aimless… Through lands he knows not; lured… In secret paths where silence hold… And rust ascending wings. Roads m…
Fugitive, wistful, Pausing at edge of her going, Autumn, the maiden, turns, Leans to the earth with ineffable Gesture. Ah, more than
(Girl’s Song) In Babylon, in Nineveh, And long ago, and far away, The lilies and the lotus blew That are my sweet of youth to-day.
Force and bluster? Mighty threate… Scorn I lightly, - Not for these. Tell me when shall great Orion Catch the flying Pleuades?
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
Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?