#AmericanWriters
When on the mountain tops ray-crow… Turns his swift arrows, dart on gl… Let but a rock glint green, the wi… Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-… Rolled into plunging torrents spri…
WHAT shall her silence keep Under the sun? Here, where the willows weep And waters run; Here, where she lies asleep,
Under rocks whereon the rose Like a streak of morning glows; Where the azure-throated newt Drowses on the twisted root; And the brown bees, humming homewa…
All the poppies in their beds Nodding crumpled crimson heads; And the larkspurs, in whose ears Twilight hangs, like twinkling tea… Sleepy jewels of the rain;
Thou pulse of hotness, who, with r… Makest meridian music, long and lo… Accentuating summer!-Dost thy bes… To make the sunbeams fiercer, and… With lonesomeness the long, close…
GREEN, watery jets of light let… The rippling foliage drenched with… And golden glimmers, warm and dim, That in the vistaed distance swim; Where, 'round the wood-spring’s oo…
Christmas Eve is here at last. And I’m happy as can be. Going to have a Christmas-tree, And more toys than any past Christmas saw or ever had,
Whenever on the windowpane I hear the fingers of the rain, And in the old trees, near the doo… The wind that whispers more and mo… Bright in the light made by the la…
Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.
Here where the season turns the la… Among the fields our feet have kno… When we were children who would la… Glad little playmates of the wind… Before came toil and care and year…
Between the darkness and the day As, lost in doubt, I went my way, I met a shape, as faint as fair, With star-like blossoms in its hai… Its body, which the moon shone thr…
The locust gyres; the heat intensi… The rain-crow croaks from hot-leaf… The butterfly, a flame-fleck, aiml… Droops down the air and knows not… Beside the stream, whose bed in pl…
When all the world was Mayday, And all the skies were blue, Young innocence made playday Among the flowers and dew; Then all of life was Mayday,
If it so befalls that the midnight… In mist no moonlight breaks, The leagues of the years my spirit… And my self myself forsakes. And I live in a land of stars and…
It is not well For me to dwell On what upon that day befell, On that dark day of fall befell; When through the landscape, bowed…