#AmericanWriters
And what are you that, wanting you… I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you…
I could not bring this splendid wo… In charge of it, to defer, no, not… Appearance, to my handsome prophec… which here I ponder and put by. I am left simpler, less encumbered…
No, I will go alone. I will come back when it’s over. Yes, of course I love you. No, it will not be long. Why may you not come with me?—
And you as well must die, belovèd… And all your beauty stand you in n… This flawless, vital hand, this pe… This body of flame and steel, befo… Of Death, or under his autumnal f…
I, having loved ever since I was… wavered In these affections; never through… rich or in the presence of clergym… loves;
“Curse thee, Life, I will live wi… Thou hast mocked me, starved me, b… And all for a pledge that was not… I have kissed thy crust and eaten… That I might eat again, and met t…
Butterflies are white and blue In this field we wander through. Suffer me to take your hand. Death comes in a day or two. All the things we ever knew
The trees along this city street, Save for the traffic and the train… Would make a sound as thin and swe… As trees in country lanes. And people standing in their shade
As I sat down by Saddle Stream To bathe my dusty feet there, A boy was standing on the bridge Any girl would meet there. As I went over Woody Knob
If I grow bitterly, Like a gnarled and stunted tree, Bearing harshly of my youth Puckered fruit that sears the mout… If I make of my drawn boughs
I had forgotten how the frogs must… After a year of silence, else I t… I should not so have ventured fort… At dusk upon this unfrequented roa… I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will…
Down, you mongrel, Death! Back into your kennel! I have stolen breath In a stalk of fennel! You shall scratch and you shall wh…
I, being born a woman and distress… By all the needs and notions of my… Am urged by your propinquity to fi… Your person fair, and feel a certa… To bear your body’s weight upon my…
When will you learn, myself, to be a dying leaf on a living tree? Budding, swelling, growing strong, Wearing green, but not for long, Drawing sustenance from air,
No rose that in a garden ever grew… In Homer’s or in Omar’s or in min… Though buried under centuries of f… Dead dust of roses, shut from sun… Forever, and forever lost from vie…