#AmericanWriters
IN seas far north, day after day We leaned upon the rail, engrossed In frolic fin and jewel spray And crystal headlands of the coast… Those beauties held so long in gaz…
HARD to wait for the postman’s t… Up the snowy walk, for the hand th… Deep in his pack, while the childr… For the rainbow-ribboned packages, And women wax faint with their fea…
I. In South Africa Over the lonesome African plain The stars look down, like eyes of… A bumping ride across gullies and… Now a grumble and now a jest,
At the crowded gangway they kissed… He had half a mind to scold her. An officer’s mother and not keep d… The epaulet on his shoulder. He had forgotten mother and fame,
ON the mountain side they fashion… Those rifting shreds of storm, A figure of strange passion, A winged and sworded form. Majestic, wild, colossal,
Two centuries’ winter storms have… Deep-voiced, the winds, swift wing… But though the north-east gale unl… The sturdy light-house sheds its b… And still when cold and fear are p…
BLUE as blossom of the myrtle Smiled the steadfast eyes of Olaf On the host of ships that harried His enraged, gold-glittering Drag… Snared within that ring of sea-bir…
YOUNG, the naked stoker who went Mad with the fires and leapt to th… Boyhood still in the voice that se… One shrill cry back from eternity. Perchance from the phosphorescent…
THE sunset, woven of soft lights And tender colors, lingers late, As looking back on all day’s drear… Compassionate; —The foolish day of hopes so high,
AT last, at last the Crescent Falls back before the Cross. Great spirits, incandescent With longing and with loss, Gleam from the clouds, crusaders
WILD Europe, red with Woden’s d… On fire with Loki’s hate, more sa… Beasts that we shame by likening t… Was it toward this the toiling cen… Was it for this the Reign of Love…
‘Thus far 80,000 horses have been… WHAT was our share in the sinnin… That we must share the doom? Sweet was our life’s beginning In the spicy meadow-bloom,
‘MOTHER! Mother!’ he called as… In the horror there Of a bursting shell That strewed red flesh on the air. Far away over sea and land:
WHAT song is in the sap of this… That to the north-star faces, Ravened each June by caterpillar… Till all its leaves are laces, Poor shreds whose very shadow grie…
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America!