#AmericanWriters
Pale faces looked up at me, up fro… Pale hands reached down to me, out… As over the hills, robed on with t… The Day’s last Hours, departed, a… Pale fingers beckoned me on; pale…
She walks the woods, when evening… With spirits of the winds and leav… And to her side the soul she calls Of every flower she perceives. She walks with introspective eyes
Low, swallow-swept and gray, Between the orchard and the spring… All its wide windows overflowing h… And crannied doors a-swing, The old barn stands to-day.
How many things, that we would rem… Sweet or sad, or great or small, Do our minds forget! and how one t… One little thing endures o’er all! For many things have I forgotten,
Now is it as if Spring had never… And Winter but a memory and dream… Here where the Summer stands, her… Heaped high with bloom and beam, Among her blackberry-lilies, low t…
Again the earth, miraculous with… Unfolds its vernal arras. Yestery… We strolled together 'neath the gr… And heard the robin tune its flute… And watched above the white cloud…
A Little bird sits in our cottonw… And perks his head and sings; And this is the song he pipes to m… While he flirts his tail and wings… ‘Hello! hello!
Can freckled August,-drowsing war… Beside a wheat-shock in the white-… In her hot hair the yellow daisies… O bird of rain, lend aught but sle… To thee? when no plumed weed, no f…
Night and the sea, and heaven over… Cloudless and vast, as ’twere of h… Wherein the facets gleamed of many… And the half-moon a crystal radian… Then suddenly, with burning banner…
WHEN pearl and gold, o’er deeps… The moon curves, silvering the dus… As in a garden, dreaming, A lily slips its dewy husk A firefly in its gleaming,—
Not while I live may I forget That garden which my spirit trod! Where dreams were flowers, wild an… And beautiful as God. Not while I breathe, awake, adrea…
And I told the boy next door What Jack Frost had done; and he Said, 'Ah shucks! that’s nothing;… I have seen all that before. You just come along with me;
It is not early spring and yet Of bloodroot blooms along the stre… And blotted banks of violet, My heart will dream. Is it because the windflower apes
FEBRILE perfumes as of faded ro… In the old house speak of love to-… Love long past; and where the soft… Down the west gleams, golden-red,… Pointing where departed splendor p…
The night has set her outposts the… Of wind and rain; And to and fro, with ragged hair, At intervals they search the pane. The fir-trees, creepers redly clim…