#AmericanWriters
Golden rose the house, in the port… thee, a marvel, carven in subtle s… portent. Life died down in the lam… caught at the wonder. Crimson, frosty with dew, the rose…
The gilded phaloi of the crocuses are thrusting at the spring air. Here is there naught of dead gods But a procession of festival, A procession, Giulio Romano,
That was the top of the walk, when… ‘Have you seen any others, any of… With apes or bears?’ A brown upstanding fellow Not like the half-castes,
I see by the morning papers That America’s sturdy sons Have started a investigation Of the making of guns. The morning paper tells me
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…
Phyllidula and the Spoils of Gouv… Where, Lady, are the days When you could go out in a hired h… Without footmen and equipments? And dine in a soggy, cheap restaur…
Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb Shall maidens scatter rose leaves And men myrtles, ere the night Slays day with her dark sword. ‘Lo! this thing is not mine
Thou keep’st thy rose-leaf Till the rose-time will be over, Think’st thou that Death will kis… Think’st thou that the Dark House Will find thee such a lover
The lateral vibrations caress me, They leap and caress me, They work pathetically in my favou… They seek my financial good. She of the spear stands present.
Nine adulteries, 12 liaisons, 64 f… Rest nightly upon the soul of our… And yet the man is so quiet and re… That he passes for both bloodless… Bastidides, on the contrary, who b…
(Ex libris Graecæ) Theodorus will be pleased at my de… And .someone else will be pleased… And yet everyone speaks evil of de… This place is the Cyprian’s for s…
Now if ever it is time to cleanse… to lead Emathian horses afield, And to name over the census of my… If I have not the faculty, ‘The b… ‘In the things of similar magnitud…
DOLE THE BELL! BELL THE… Whom can these duds attack? Soapy Sime? Slipp’ry Mac? Naught but a shirt is there Such as the fascists wear,
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…
We’ll go no more a-roving by the l… November glooms are barren beside… The summer flowers are faded, the… We’ll go no more a-roving, lest wo… We’ll go no more a-roving by the l…