#AmericanWriters
They shall go down unto Life’s Bo… Walk unafraid within that Living… Nor heed the driving rain of shot… That 'round them falls; but with u… Be one with mighty hosts, an arméd…
I know not why or whence he came Or how he chanced to go; I only know he brought me love, And going, left me woe. I do not ask that he turn back
The slender moon in its silvery sh… The golden stars with the blue bet… Of a dreamy, summer sky; And still the night winds sigh. With the silvery moon to whisper t…
Old memories come trooping down The vistas of the years; In blue-girt robes of pleasure cla… Or garbed in tears. Down from the days when hope was y…
Forget? Ah, never! Your eyes, your voice, your lips. Those little ways of love, Half-childish yet all-wise
Old Moloch walks the way tonight On Flander’s poppied field, Where foe meets foe in steel and m… And never one shall yield. Old Moloch of the fiery shrine,
The little child crosses the stree… Why does she wave to me? What sees she in my wasted form To hail so joyously? Her olive face and curly hair
The band of Gideon roam the sky, The howling wind is their war-cry, The thunder roll is their trump’s… And the lightning flash their veng… Each black cloud
The burnished glow of the old-gold… Shines brightly over me. A thousand stars, like a thousand… In a dark and placid sea, Bring memories of a golden night,
Peace to his ashes! I cannot for the soul of me Sorrowing bow, Tho I search through the heart of… Grieve for him now.
From your life’s blood to coin a t… The past, the present and the futu… To hold—and weave it to a ringing… That sounds within the changing he…
Love is the soothing voice of gods To which men ever list. Love is the ease of soul’s travail And sorrow’s alchemist.
I plucked a rose from out a bower… That overhung my garden seat; And wondered I if, e’er before, b… A rose so sweet. Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt t…
Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the to… Sheds its cloak of withered leaves… Brings its sighing, soughing breez… Prophet of the dying year,
Blue eyes, gray eyes, All the eyes that be, Hold within their changing depths Wealth of charm to me. Dark-eyed maid, of moment’s fancy,
