#AmericanWriters
SOME learn it in their youth, Some after bitter years: There is no escape from the truth Though we drown in our tears. Many die when they see
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…
IF I had a lover, now, who would… Yourself with your laughter, your… Yet I’d know when you kissed me y… But kneeling in tears at a lost la… Or if I should seek him who loves…
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
The thing that I am seeking I know I shall not find; A wistful voice is crying This sorrow in my mind. I know I shall not find it
I HAVE a harp of many strings But two are enough for me: One is for love and one for death; And what would the third one be? Before I learn another note
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…
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…
ONCE I knelt in my shining mail Here by Thine altar all the night… My heart beat proudly, my prayer r… But I looked to my armor to win t… God, my lance was a broken reed,
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…
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…
I SAW her after many years. The blue-black hair that had swept… Was dull and grey. No one would t… To look at her thin face worn with… I felt my own wet eyelids burn,
THE web flew out and floated wide… Poor lady! I was with her then. She gathered up her piteous pride, But she could never weave again. The mirror cracked from side to si…
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