#AmericanWriters
Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits o… Ticked off upon a clock which neve… Shredding our portion of Eternity… We break away at last, and steal t…
Hold your soul open for my welcomi… Let the quiet of your spirit bathe… With its clear and rippled coolnes… That, loose-limbed and weary, I f… Outstretched upon your peace, as o…
See! I give myself to you, Belove… My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a she… Their shapes are quaint and beauti… And they have many pleasant colour…
There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber
By day you cannot see the sky For it is up so very high. You look and look, but it’s so blu… That you can never see right throu… But when night comes it is quite p…
Look, Dear, how bright the moonli… See where it casts the shadow of t… Far out upon the grass. And every… Of light night wind comes laden wi… Of opening flowers which never blo…
A near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of leaden heaviness, and crags Of houses lift their masonry Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie
There once was a man whom the gods… And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, and his… And he cursed eternally. He damned the sun, and he damned t…
April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds, The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds. Across a deep-sunken stream
Over the yawning chimney hangs the… fall the raindrops on the oaken lo… and smokes the ceiling beams. Drip… The wide, state bed shivers beneat… in the smoke, a tarnished coronet…
The snow whispers around me And my wooden clogs Leave holes behind me in the snow. But no one will pass this way Seeking my footsteps,
The inkstand is full of ink, and t… in the round of light thrown by a… the corners, and keep rolling thro… is silver and pearl, for the night… See how the roof glitters, like ic…
What torture lurks within a single… When grown too constant; and howev… However welcome still, the weary m… Aches with its presence. Dull rem… Remembers on unceasingly; unsought
I have painted a picture of a ghos… Upon my kite, And hung it on a tree. Later, when I loose the string And let it fly,
Naughty little speckled trout, Can’t I coax you to come out? Is it such great fun to play In the water every day? Do you pull the Naiads’ hair