#AmericanWriters
A Lady asks me I speak in season She seeks reason for an affect, wi… That is so proud he hath Love for… Who denys it can hear the truth no…
Jove, be merciful to that unfortun… Or an ornamental death will be hel… The time is come, the air heaves i… The dry earth pants against the ca… But this heat is not the root of t…
O helpless few in my country, remn… Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved,
The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old
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,
The rustling of the silk is discon… Dust drifts over the court-yard, There is no sound of foot-fall, an… Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart…
FROM CHARLES D’ORLEANS God! that mad’st her well regard h… How she is so fair and bonny; For the great charms that are upon… Ready are all folks to reward her.
Go, my songs, seek your praise fro… and from the intolerant, Move among the lovers of perfectio… Seek ever to stand in the hard So… And take you wounds from it gladly…
Put of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pol… I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the full clutch of circumstance…
The jewelled steps are already qui… It is so late that the dew soaks m… And I let down the crystal curtai… And watch the moon through the cle…
I am a grave poetic hen That lays poetic eggs And to enhance my temperament A little quiet begs. We make the yolk philosophy,
“Thank you, whatever comes” And t… And, as the ray of sun on hanging… Fades when the wind hath lifted th… Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatev… One hour was sunlit and the most h…
At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:
‘Tis but a vague, invarious deli… As gold that rains about some buri… As the fine flakes, When tourists frolicking Stamp on his roof or in the glazin…
Agathas Four and forty lovers had Agathas… All of whom she refused; And now she turns to me seeking lo… And her hair also is turning.