#AmericanWriters
The path runs straight between the… A moonlit path, hemmed in by beds… Where phlox and marigolds dispute… With tall, red dahlias and the bri… 'T is reckless prodigality which t…
A flickering glimmer through a win… A dim red glare through mud bespat… Cleaving a path between blown wall… Across uneven pavements sunk in sl… To scatter and then quench itself…
As for a moment he stands, in hard… Poised on the fircrested rock, ove… Gleams in the wavering sunlight, w… So for a moment I stand, my feet… Eagerly scanning the future which…
In the brown water, Thick and silver-sheened in the su… Liquid and cool in the shade of th… A pike dozed. Lost among the shadows of stems
Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass, the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceili...
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,
What charm is yours, you faded old… Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of d… And we, pushing and fighting in th… Of modern life, find solace in you…
When I looked into your eyes, I saw a garden With peonies, and tinkling pagodas… And round-arched bridges Over still lakes.
See! He trails his toes Through the long streaks of moonli… And the nails of his fingers glitt… They claw and flash among the tree… His lips suck at my open window,
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 wind is singing through the tr… A deep-voiced song of rushing cade… And crashing intervals. No summer… Is this, though hot July is at it… Gone is her gentler music; with de…
Wild little bird, who chose thee f… To put upon the cover of this book… Who heard thee singing in the dist… The vague, far greenness of the en… When the damp freshness of the mor…
How empty seems the town now you a… A wilderness of sad streets, where… Hide nothing to desire; sunshine f… Eery, distorted, as it long had sh… On white, dead faces tombed in hal…
'T is you that are the music, not… The song is but a door which, open… Lets forth the pent-up melody insi… Your spirit’s harmony, which clear… Sings but of you. Throughout your…
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
