#AmericanWriters
Great clouds of sullen seal and go… Bar bleak the tawny west, From which all day the-thunder rol… And storm streamed, crest on crest… Now silvery in its deeps of bronze
Who is she, like the spring, who c… From the hills to the smoke-huddle… With her peach-petal face And her wildflower grace, Bringing sunshine and gladness to…
The shivering wind sits in the oak… Twisted and tortured, nevermore ar… Grief and decay sit with it; they,… Autumnal touch makes hectic-red th… Of all the oak leaves; desolating,…
Slow sinks the sun, a great carbun… Red in the cavern of a sombre clou… And in her garden, where the dense… Among her dying asters stands the… Like some lone woman in a ruined h…
Topsy Turvy is her name; She’s a curiosity: Never sees the world the same As it seems to you and me. ‘All the world is upside down,’
Over the roar of cities, Over the hush of the hills, Mounts ever a song that never stop… A voice that never stills. Epic-loud as the sea is,
A Tortured tree in a huddled holl… On whose gnarled boughs three leav… A strip of path that the hunters f… That leads to fields of the wind’s… And a rain-washed hill with the wi…
The grasshopper, that sang its sle… All summer long, The orchard lands and harvest fiel… Taking no heed of aught save its o… Without alloy,
Thou, oh, thou! Thou of the chorded shell and gold… Of the dark eyes and pale pacific… Music, who by the plangent waves, Or in the echoing night of labyrin…
Masks Death rides black-masked to-night;… Madness beside him brandishes a to… The peaceful farmhouse with its vi… Lies in their way. Death lifts a…
I have heard the wind on a winter’… When the snow-cold moon looked ici… My window’s flickering firelight, Where the frost his witchery drew: I have heard the wind on a winter’…
March set heel upon the flowers, Trod and trampled them for hours: But when April’s bugles rang, Up their starry legions sprang, Radiant in the sun-shot showers.
There is a place (I know it well) Where beech trees crowd into a glo… And where a twinkling woodland wel… Flings from a rock a rippling plum… And, like a Faun beneath a spell,
In dim samite was she bedight, And on her hair a hoop of gold, Like fox-fire in the tawn moonligh… Was glimmering cold. With soft gray eyes she gloomed an…
There is a little girl I know Who takes her time to come and go. If you should ask her please to hu… She tries her best then to be slow… She gives her parents lots of worr…