#AmericanWriters
Some may have blamed us that we ce… Of things we spoke of in our verse… Saying: a lovely voice is such as… Saying: that lady’s eyes were sad… Wherein the world’s whole joy is b…
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…
Blue mountains to the north of the… White river winding about them; Here we must make separation And go out through a thousand mile… Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhi… Ha’ we lost the goodliest fere o’… For the priests and the gallows tr… Aye lover he was of brawny men, O’ ships and the open sea.
For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but, seeing he had bee…
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
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
WIND Scarce and thin, scarce and thin The government’s excuse, Never at all will they do Aught of the slightest use.
THE NEO-COMMUNE Manhood of England, Dougth of the Shires, Want Russia to save ‘em And answer their prayers.
Go, my songs, to the lonely and th… Go also to the nerve-racked, go to… Bear to them my contempt for their… Go as a great wave of cool water, Bear my contempt of oppressors.
‘Tis Evanoe’s, A house not made with hands, But out somewhere beyond the world… Her gold is spread, above, around,… Strange ways and walls are fashion…
Did I ‘ear it ’arf in a doze: The Co-ops was a goin’ somewhere, Did I 'ear it while pickin’ 'ops; How they better start takin’ care, That the papers were gettin’ toget…
Mr. Styrax 1 Mr. Hecatomb Styrax, the owner of… A 'blue’ and a climber of mountain… He being at that age a virgin, The term Virgo’ being made male i…
Why does the horse-faced lady of j… Walk down Longacre reciting Swinb… Why does the small child in the so… Crawl in the very black gutter ben… Why does the really handsome young…
Io! Io! Tamuz! The Dryad staiids in my court-yar… With plaintive, querulous crying. (Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!) Oh, no, she is not crying: ‘Tamuz…