#AmericanWriters
FROM PROPERTIUS, ELEG… Here let thy clemency, Persephone… Do thou, Pluto, bring here no gre… So many thousand beauties are gone… Ye might let one remain above with…
WIND Scarce and thin, scarce and thin The government’s excuse, Never at all will they do Aught of the slightest use.
What if I know thy speeches word… And if thou knew’st I knew them w… What if I know thy speeches word… And all the time thou sayest them… ‘Lo, one there was who bent her fa…
These tales of old disguisings, ar… Strange myths of souls that found… Unwonted folk that spake an hostil… Some soul from all the rest who’d… The star—span acres of a former lo…
Italian Campagna 1309, the open r… Bah! I have sung women in three c… But it is all the same; And I will sing of the sun. Lips, words, and you snare them,
What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere,
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…
M. Pom-POM allait en guerre Per vendere cannoni Mon beau grand frère Ne peut plus voir Per vendere cannoni.
How many will come after me singing as well as I sing, none be… Telling the heart of their truth as I have taught them to tell it; Fruit of my seed,
The light became her grace and dwe… Blind eyes and shadows that are fo… Lo, how the light doth melt us int… The broken sunlight for a healm sh… Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.
I had been seen in the shade, recu… The water dripping from Belleroph… Alba, your kings, and the realm yo… have constructed with such industr… Shall be yawned out on my lyre wit…
I am a grave poetic hen That lays poetic eggs And to enhance my temperament A little quiet begs. We make the yolk philosophy,
And then went down to the ship, Set keel to breakers, forth on the… We set up mast and sail on that sw… Bore sheep aboard her, and our bod… Heavy with weeping, and winds from…
As cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley She lay beside me in the dawn.
Like a skein of loose silk blown a… She walks by the railing of a path… And she is dying piece—meal of a sort of emotional anæmia. And round about there is a rabble