#AmericanWriters
Avoid the reeking herd, Shun the polluted flock, Live like that stoic bird, The eagle of the rock. The huddled warmth of crowds
Here’s a wonderful thing, A humming-bird’s wing In hammered gold, And store well chosen Of snowflakes frozen
Liza, go steep your long white han… In the cool waters of that spring Which bubbles up through shiny san… The colour of a wild-dove’s wing. Dabble your hands, and steep them…
You are a rose, but set with sharp… You are a pretty bird that pecks a… You are a little squirrel on a tre… Pelting me with the prickly fruit… A diamond, torn from a crystal min…
Say not of beauty she is good, Or aught but beautiful, Or sleek to doves’ wings of the wo… Her wild wings of a gull. Call her not wicked; that word’s t…
For this you’ve striven Daring, to fail: Your sky is riven Like a tearing veil. For this, you’ve wasted
BARCAROLE ON THE STYX<… Fair youth with the rose at your l… A riddle is hid in your eyes; Discard conversational quips, Give over elaborate disguise.
Too high, too high to pluck My heart shall swing. A fruit no bee shall suck, No wasp shall sting. If on some night of cold
Alembics turn to stranger things Strange things, but never while we… Shall magic turn this bronze that… To singing water in a sieve. The trumpets of Cæsar’s guard
Beauty has a tarnished dress, And a patchwork cloak of cloth Dipped deep in mournfulness, Striped like a moth. Wet grass where it trails
Why should this Negro insolently… Down the red noonday on such noise… Piled in his barrow, tawnier than… Lie heaps of smouldering daisies,… Their copper petals shriveled up w…
I shall die hidden in a hut In the middle of an alder wood, With the back door blind and bolte… And the front door locked for good… I shall lie folded like a saint,
Better to see your cheek grown hol… Better to see your temple worn, Than to forget to follow, follow, After the sound of a silver horn. Better to bind your brow with will…
The old moon is tarnished With smoke of the flood, The dead leaves are varnished With colour like blood. A treacherous smiler
When foxes eat the last gold grape… And the last white antelope is kil… I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I’ll build. But first I’ll shrink to fairy si…