#AmericanWriters
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
The sun is warm today, O Romulus, and on Thine older Palentine the birds Still sing.
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
‘WHY do You thus devise Evil against her?’ ‘For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.’
With swift Great sweep of her Magnificent arm my pain Clanged back the doors that shut m… From life.
You nor I nor nobody knows Where our daily-taken breath Vanisheth and vanisheth: Where our lost breath’s flying goe… You nor I nor nobody knows.
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
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,
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…
Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue
O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna! (You must say it nine times, curts… In rose-pale, fading blue of twili… See, the new moon’s thin crescent… Nine times I’ll curtsey murmuring…
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
As I went, as I went Over the mountains, I heard, I heard, Through cloud-wreath and mist, A hound that was baying -
Madonna, Madonnina Sat by the grey road-side, Saint Joseph her beside, And Our Lord at her breast; Oh they were fain to rest,