#AmericanWriters
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…
How can you lie so still? All day… And never a blade of all the green… To show where restlessly you toss… And fling a desperate arm or draw… Stiffened and aching from their lo…
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
Lo, how they weave– the imperturba… Those threads that are my destiny: Steadily at the eternal task they’… Industrious . . . indifferent . .… Weave, Fates! And what your spins…
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.
Behold her, Running through the waves Eager to reach the land; The water laps her, Sun and wind are on her,
Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.
‘There’s be no roof to shelter you… You’ll have no where to lay your h… And who will get your food for you… Star-dust pays for no man’s bread. So, Jacky, come give me your fidd…
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
The morning is new and the skies a… The day cometh in with the sun and… Hasten, belov’ed! For see, while you were yet sleepi… The cool and virgin feet of dawn w…
Is it as plainly in our living sho… By slant and twist, which way the…
Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, –mo… And sweet.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
The clustered Gods, the marching… The mighty-limbed, deep-bosomed T… The shimmering grey-gold London f… I wish that Phidias could see!