#Americans
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing… A tree that looks at God all day,
(For Sara Teasdale) The lonely farm, the crowded stree… The palace and the slum, Give welcome to my silent feet As, bearing gifts, I come.
No longer of Him be it said “He hath no place to lay His head… In every land a constant lamp Flames by His small and mighty ca… There is no strange and distant pl…
A few long-hoarded pennies in his… Behold him stand; A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and… The joy that once he had, The first delight of ownership is…
Vain is the chiming of forgotten b… That the wind sways above a ruined… Vainer his voice in whom no longer… Hunger that craves immortal Bread… Light songs we breathe that perish…
The roar of the world is in my ear… Thank God for the roar of the wor… Thank God for the mighty tide of… Against me always hurled! Thank God for the bitter and ceas…
Tired clerks, pale girls, street c… Boys, priests and harlots, drunkar… Each one the pleasant outer sunshi… They mingle in this stifling, loud… The gate clangs to– we stir– we sw…
(For Amelia Josephine Burr) The road is wide and the stars are… and the breath of the night is swe… And this is the time when wanderlu… But I’m glad to turn from the ope…
When I am tired of earnest men, Intense and keen and sharp and cle… Pursuing fame with brush or pen Or counting metal disks forever, Then from the halls of Shadowland
Now is the rhymer’s honest trade A thing for scornful laughter made… The merchant’s sneer, the clerk’s… These are the burden of our pain. Because of you did this befall,
In alien earth, across a troubled… His body lies that was so fair and… His mouth is stopped, with half hi… His arm is still, that struck to m… But let no cloud of lamentation be
(For Robert Cortez Holliday) If I should live in a forest And sleep underneath a tree, No grove of impudent saplings Would make a home for me.
Serene he stands, with mist serene… And draws a cloak of trees about h… The thunder roars but cannot break… And from his rugged face the tempe… He does not heed the angry lightni…
(For Aline) From what old ballad, or from what… Did you descend to glorify the ear… Was it from Chaucer’s singing boo… Or did Watteau’s small brushes gi…
(For A. K. K.) What distant mountains thrill and… Beneath our Lady Folly’s tread? Why has she left us, wise in woe, Shrewd, practical, uncomforted?