#AmericanWriters
THE barberry bright, the barberry… It stood on the mantelpiece becaus… Its stems were slender and thorny… And it looked most beautiful again… But Michael climbed up there in s…
DEBORAH and Christopher brough… Kenton brought me buttercups with… But Michael brought an autumn lea… A wan leaf, a ghost leaf, beautifu… Death in all loveliness, fragile a…
MICHAEL walks in autumn leaves Rustling leaves and fading grasses… And his little music-box Tinkles faintly as he passes. It’s a gay and jaunty tune
I CAN never remake the thing I h… I brushed the golden dust from the… I called down wind to shatter the… I did a terrible thing. I feared that the cup might fall,…
THE heart knoweth? If this be tr… Then the thing that I bear in my… For it knows no more than a hollow… That answers to every wind. I am sick of the thing! I think w…
HERE where each road-worn one Rests till the night is done, In the grey dawning I saw my hors… And as I left the inn With his smooth face of sin
I’M glad I have but a little hear… For my heart is very small’ It makes it free to come and go And no one cares at all. I give my heart for a tender word,
AND now it is all to be done over… And what will come of it only God… What has become of the furrows plo… And the plants set row on row? Where are the lines of beautiful b…
MY garden walks were smooth and g… And edged with box trees left and… An old grey sun-dial stood between Two rounded bee hives, low and whi… My hollyhocks grew tall and red,
SMILINGLY, out of my pain, I have woven a little song; You may take it away with you. I shall not sing it again, But when you have learned it throu…
THERE is no Rachel any more And so it does not really matter. Leah alone is left, and she Goes her own way inscrutably. Soft-eyed she goes, content to sca…
WHEN a storm comes up at night a… When the trees are moaning like ma… I wake in fear and put out my hand… With your name on my lips. No pain that the heart can hold is…
Kenton and Deborah, Michael and… These are fine children as all the… But into my arms in my dreams ever… Come Peter and Christopher, Fait… Kenton is tropical, Rose is pure…
WHY don’t you go back to the sea,… I am not one who would hold you; The sea is the woman you really lo… So let hers be the arms that fold… Your bright blue eyes are sailor’s…
A wind rose in the night, (She had always feared it so!) Sorrow plucked at my heart And I could not help but go. Softly I went and stood