#AmericanWriters
I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue s… I walk down the patterned garden p… In my stiff, brocaded gown.
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,
GRASS-BLADES push up between… And catch the sun on their flat si… Shooting it back, Gold and emerald, Into the eyes of passers-by.
Where else in all America are we… As in this hall? White columns polished like glass, A dome and a dome, A balcony and a balcony,
The tall yellow hollyhocks stand, Still and straight, With their round blossoms spread o… In the quiet sunshine. And still is the old Roman wall,
The fountain bent and straightened… In the night wind, Blowing like a flower. It gleamed and glittered, A tall white lily,
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
The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,
This little bowl is like a mossy p… In a Spring wood, where dogtooth… Nodding in chequered sunshine of t… A quiet place, still, with the sou… Where, though unseen, is heard the…
A Minstrel stands on a marble sta… Blown by the bright wind, debonair… Below lies the sea, a sapphire flo… Above on the terrace a turret door Frames a lady, listless and wan,
I learnt to write to you in happie… And every letter was a piece I ch… From off my heart, a fragment newl… From the mosaic of life; its blues… Its throbbing reds, I gave to ear…
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,
At first a mere thread of a footpa… Sweeping triumphant across it, it… Whose blossoms were poised above l… While hidden by bloom in a hawthor… It widened a highway, majestic, st…
Gushing from the mouths of stone m… To spread at ease under the sky In granite-lipped basins, Where iris dabble their feet And rustle to a passing wind,
Be not angry with me that I bear Your colours everywhere, All through each crowded street, And meet The wonder-light in every eye,
