#AmericanWriters
You were praised, my books, because I had just come from the c… I was twenty years behind the time… so you found an audience ready. I do not disown you,
What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere,
I join these words for four people… Some others may overhear them, O world, I am sorry for you, You do not know these four people.
Come, let us pity those who are be… Come, my friend, and remember t hat the rich have butlers… And we have friends and no butlers… Come, let us pity the married and…
The eyes of this dead lady speak t… For here was love, was not to be d… And here desire, not to be kissed… The eyes of this dead lady speak t…
This is another of our ancient lov… Pass and be silent, Rullus, for t… Hath lacked a something since this… Hath lacked a something. ’Twas bu…
And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mou… Not shaking the grass
Three spirits came to me And drew me apart To where the olive boughs Lay stripped upon the ground: Pale carnage beneath bright mist.
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,
Here we are, picking the first fer… And saying: When shall we get bac… Here we are because we have the K… We have no comfort because of thes… We grub the soft fern—shoots,
When the wind storms by with a sho… Rejoice in the tramp and the roar… Then, then, it comes home to the h… Is the passion that burns the bloo… Till you pity the dead down there…
The red and green kingfishers flash between the orchids and clov… One bird casts its gleam on anothe… Green vines hang through the high… They weave a whole roof to the mou…
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…
As a bathtub lined with white porc… When the hot water gives out or go… So is the slow cooling of our chiv… O my much praised but-not-altogeth…
For a moment she rested against me Like a swallow half blown to the w… And they talk of Swinburne’s wome… And the shepherdess meeting with… And the harlots of Baudelaire.