#Americans #XXCentury
For I was a gaunt, grave councill… Being in all things wise, and very… But I have put aside this folly a… That old age weareth for a cloak. I was quite strong—at least they s…
O Chansons foregoing You were a seven days’ wonder. When you came out in the magazines You created considerable stir in… And now you are stale and worn out…
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,
A poor clerk I, 'Arnaut the less’… And because I have small mind to… Day long, long day cooped on a sto… A-jumbling o’ figures for Maitre… I ha’ taken to rambling the South…
The narrow streets cut into the wi… Dark oxen, white horses, drag on the seven coaches with out… The coaches are perfumed wood, The jewelled chair is held up at t…
Let us build here an exquisite fri… The flame, the autumn, and the gre… Fought out their strife here, ’tis… Where these have been, meet ’tis,…
Your mind and you are our Sargass… London has swept about you this sc… And bright ships left you this or… Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all… Strange spars of knowledge and dim…
“Time’s bitter flood”! Oh, that’s… But where’s the old friend hasn’t… Or slacked his hand-grip when you… I know your circle and can fairly… What you have kept and what you’ve…
The Sword Singing - The voice of the Sword from the h… Clanging imperious Forth from Time’s battlements
Be in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not As transient things are— gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness
O my fellow sufferers, songs of my… A lot of asses praise you because… We, you, I! We are 'Red Bloods’! Imagine it, my fellow sufferers Our maleness lifts us out of the r…
Ko-Jin goes west from Ko-kaku-ro, The smoke-flowers are blurred over… His lone sail blots the far sky. And now I see only the river, The long Kiang, reaching heaven.
I sat on the Dogana’s steps For the gondolas cost too much, th… And there were not “those girls”,… And the Buccentoro twenty yards o… And the lit cross—beams, that year…
We shall surely die: Must we needs grow old? Grow old and cold, And we know not why? O, the By-and-By,