#AmericanWriters
How will this beauty, when I am f… Sweep back upon me and engulf my m… How will these hours, when we twai… Turned in their sapphire tide, com…
With minds still hovering above th… Certain poets here and in France Still sigh over established and na… Long since fully discussed by Ovi… They howl. They complain in delic…
Turned from the 'eau-forte Par Jaquemart’ To the strait head Of Messalina: ‘His true Penelope
Let some new lying ass, Who knows not what is or was, Talk economics, Pay for his witless noise, Get the kid nice new toys,
I am a grave poetic hen That lays poetic eggs And to enhance my temperament A little quiet begs. We make the yolk philosophy,
Let us deride the smugness of 'Th… So much for the gagged reviewers, It will pay them when the worms ar… vitals; These are they who objected to new…
Lived on one’s back, In the long hours of repose, Life is a practical nightmare - Hideous asleep or awake. Shoulders and loins
(1907) 1 am homesick after mine own kind, Oh I know that there are folk abo… But I am homesick after mine own… ‘These sell our pictures’! Oh wel…
What is to come we know not. But… That what has been was good—was go… Better to hide, and best of all to… We are the masters of the days tha… We have lived, we have loved, we h…
Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhi… Ha’ we lost the goodliest fere o’… For the priests and the gallows tr… Aye lover he was of brawny men, O’ ships and the open sea.
The shadow of Dawn; Stillness and stars and over-maste… Of Life and Death and Sleep; Heard over gleaming flats, the old… Of the old, unchanging Sea.
Young men riding in the street In the bright new season Spur without reason Causing their steeds to leap. And at the pace they keep
The sun rises in south east corner… To look on the tall house of the… For they have a daughter named Ra… (pretty girl) She made the name for herself: ‘G…
The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone.
To me at my fifth-floor window The chimney-pots in rows Are sets of pipes pandean For every wind that blows; And the smoke that whirls and eddi…