#AmericanWriters
A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly. . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing’d.
Lo, All the Way, Look you, I said, the clouds will… Grow clear, the road Be easier for my travelling the fi… So sodden and dead,
Than spring’s new scents The winter’s earliest wind Blows from the hills the first fai… Of Snow. Why have I
‘Boy, lying Where the long grass Edges the pool’s brim, What do you watch There in the water? The blue
Avis, the fair, at dawn Rose lightly from her bed, Herself arrayed, Avis, the fait, the maid, In vestiment of lawn;
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…
Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.
Reap, reap the grain and gather The sweet grapes from the vine; Our Lord’s mother is weeping, She hath nor bread nor wine; She is weeping. The Queen of Hea…
Meet thou the event And terrible happening of Thine end: for thou art come Upon the remote, cold place Of ultimate dissolution and
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?
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…
Seen on a night in November How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumn, evanescent, wan,