#AmericanWriters
Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn. .of these Singing I wreathe my pretty wreat… O’death.
Thou beautiful and ivory gates That shut my tears away from me - Even, at last, such refuge yield That great, safe doors of Ebony.
To Walter Savage Landor Ah, Walter, where you lived I rue These days come all too late for m… What matter if her eyes were blue Whose rival is Persephone?
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly’… Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!
Still as On windless nights The moon-cast shadows are, So still will be my heart when I Am dead.
Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy feet as willing-light Run through Paradise, I wonder, As they run the blue skies under, Willing feet, so airy-light?
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart’s Shed blood.
The long night through and still a… Estranged from eyes that very wear… Makes blind to dawn.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas!
I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these.
The shadowy boy of night Crosses the dusking land; He sows his poppy-seeds With steady, gentle hand. The shadowy boy of night
Heard ye the maidens Went through the meadows, Early, O, early, While yet the dew was Wet on the grass?