#AmericanWriters
Lo, how it gleams and glistens in… Like the cheek of a Chesterton.
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,
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…
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…
She passed and left no quiver in t… Moving among the trees, and clingi… in the air she severed, Fanning the grass she walked on th… Grey olive leaves beneath a rain-c…
The wan sun westers, faint and slo… The eastern distance glimmers gray… An eerie haze comes creeping low Across the little, lonely bay; And from the sky-line far away
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…
May I for my own self song’s trut… Journey’s jargon, how I in harsh… Hardship endured oft. Bitter breast—cares have I abided… Known on my keel many a care’s hol…
‘Tis not a game that plays at ma… Provençe knew; ’Tis not a game of barter, lands a… Provençe knew. We who are wise beyond your dream…
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…
March has come to the bridge head, Peach boughs and apricot boughs ha… gates, At morning there are flowers to cu… And evening drives them on the eas…
I even I, am he who knoweth the r… Through the sky, and the wind ther… I have beheld the Lady of Life, I, even I, who fly with the swall… Green and gray is her raiment,
Rest Master, for we be a-weary, w… And would feel the fingers of the… Upon these lids that lie over us Sodden and lead-heavy. Rest brother, for lo! the dawn is…
«I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have… These five millennia, and thy dead… Moved not, nor ever answer my desi… And thy light limbs, wherethrough… Burn not with me nor any saffron t…
You played and sang a snatch of so… A song that all-too well we knew; But whither had flown the ancient… And was it really I and you? O, since the end of life’s to live