#AmericanWriters
I was seventy-seven, come August, I shall shortly be losing my bloom… I’ve experienced zephyr and raw gu… And (symbolical) flood and simoom. When you come to this time of abat…
The bird that feeds from off my pa… Is sleek, affectionate, and calm, But double, to me, is worth the th… A-flickering in the elder-bush.
I shall come back without fanfaron… Of wailing wind and graveyard pano… But, trembling, slip from cool Et… A mild and most bewildered little… I shall not make sepulchral midnig…
Oh, when I flung my heart away, The year was at its fall. I saw my dear, the other day, Beside a flowering wall; And this was all I had to say:
Unseemly are the open eyes That watch the midnight sheep, That look upon the secret skies Nor close, abashed, in sleep; That see the dawn drag in, unbidde…
Oh, lead me to a quiet cell Where never footfall rankles, And bar the window passing well, And gyve my wrists and ankles. Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,
Why is it, when I am in Rome, I’d give an eye to be at home, But when on native earth I be, My soul is sick for Italy? And why with you, my love, my lord…
The sun’s gone dim, and The moon’s turned black; For I loved him, and He didn’t love back.
... So, praise the gods, Catullus… And let me tend you this advice, m… Take any lover that you will, or m… Except a poet. All of them are qu… It’s just the same– a quarrel or a…
When you are gone, there is nor bl… Nor singing sea at night, nor silv… And I can only stare, and shape m… In little words. I cannot conjure loveliness, to dr…
Four be the things I am wiser to… Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a… Four be the things I’d been bette… Love, curiosity, freckles, and dou… Three be the things I shall never…
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of so… A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never… And I am Marie of Roumania.
Chloe’s hair, no doubt, was bright… Lydia’s mouth more sweetly sad; Hebe’s arms were rather whiter; Languorous-lidded Helen had Eyes more blue than e’er the sky w…
A single flow’r he sent me, since… All tenderly his messenger he chos… Deep-hearted, pure, with scented d… One perfect rose. I knew the language of the flowere…
So take my vows and scatter them t… Who swears the sweetest is no more… And say no kinder words than these… “Ever she longed for peace, but wa… And thus they are, whose silly fem…