#AmericanWriters
As it Were tissue of silver I’ll wear, O Fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon.
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
(1) The rose new-opening saith, And the dew of the morning saith, (Fallen leaves and vanished dew) Remember death.
Have yet forgot, sweet birds, How near the heaven’s lie? Drooping, sick-pinion’d, oh Have yet forgot the sky? The air that once I knew
Listen . . . With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break f… And fall.
‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’
If illness’ end be health regained… Will pay you, Asculapeus, when I…
Nor stars . . the dark . . and in The dark the grey Ghost glimmer of the olive trees The black straight rows Of Cypresses.
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…
Musicians O Musicians: Heartseas… Heartsease: an you will have me li… Light wind in the small green leav… Play, oh play, my sad heart ease; Birds, shake from your wilding thr…
Heard ye the maidens Went through the meadows, Early, O, early, While yet the dew was Wet on the grass?
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still
Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,
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…