#AmericanWriters
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…
What instinct forces man to journe… Urged by a longing blind but domin… Nothing he sees can hold him, noth… His never failing eagerness. The… Setting in splendour every night h…
He shouts in the sails of the ship… He steals the down from the honeyb… He makes the forest trees rustle a… He twirls my kite till it breaks i… Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
I do not care to talk to you altho… Your speech evokes a thousand symp… And all my being’s silent harmonie… Wake trembling into music. When y… It is as if some sudden, dreadful…
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…
Oblong, its jutted ends rounding i… The old sunken basin lies with its… An inch below the terrace tiles. Over the stagnant water Slide reflections:
How is it that, being gone, you fi… And all the long nights are made g… No loneliness is this, nor misery, But great content that these shoul… Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as sh…
Good ev’nin’, Mis’ Priest. I jest stepped in to tell you Goo… Yes, it’s all over. All my things is packed An’ every last one o’ them boxes
Hold your apron wide That I may pour my gifts into it, So that scarcely shall your two ar… From falling to the ground. I would pour them upon you
Before the Altar, bowed, he stand… With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrifici… Not one of all these has he given,
Wax-white— Floor, ceiling, walls. Ivory shadows Over the pavement Polished to cream surfaces
A face seen passing in a crowded s… A voice heard singing music, large… And from that moment life is chang… Become of more heroic temper, meet To freely ask and give, a man comp…
You glow in my heart Like the flames of uncontrolled ca… But when I go to warm my hands, My clumsiness overturns the light, and then I stumble
It winds along the face of a cliff This path which I long to explore… And over it dashes a waterfall, And the air is full of the roar And the thunderous voice of waters…
They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river,