#AmericanWriters
Summer may come, in sun-blonde spl… To reap the harvest that Springti… And Fall lead in her old defender… Winter, all huddled up in snows: Ever a-south the love-wind blows
What would it mean for you and me If dawn should come no more! Think of its gold along the sea, Its rose above the shore! That rose of awful mystery,
The locust builds its are of sound And tops it with a spire; The roadside leaves pant to the gr… With dust from hoof and tire. The insects, day and night, make d…
I remember, when a child, How within the April wild Once I walked with Mystery In the groves of Arcady…. Through the boughs, before, behind…
I saw the spirit of the pines that… With spirits of the ocean and the… Against the tumult rose its tatter… Wild rain and darkness round it li… Fearful it stood, limbed like some…
There are some souls Whose lot it is to set their heart… That adverse Fate controls. While others win With little labor through life’s d…
NIGHT, they say, is no man’s fri… And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strod… Through the blackness of the road,
Who knows the things they dream, a… Or feel, who lie beneath the groun… Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, a… That close them round. In spring the violets may spell
CLOVE-SPICY pinks and phlox t… With drowsy indolence; And in the evening skies Interior splendor, pregnant with s… As if in some new wise
There in the past I see her as of… Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within… Dim with a twilight of tenebrious… Her white face sensuous as a delic… Night opens in the tropics. Fold…
From morn till noon upon the windo… The tempest tapped with rainy fing… And all the afternoon the blusteri… Beat at the door with furious feet… The rose, near which the lily bloo…
‘ Succinctae sacra Dianae ’.-OVID There the ragged sunlight lay Tawny on thick ferns and gray
Three miles of trees it is: and I Came through the woods that waited… For the cool summer dusk to come; And lingered there to watch the sk… Up which the gradual splendor clom…
THE old house leans upon a tree Like some old man upon a staff: The night wind in its ancient porc… Sounds like a hollow laugh. The heaven is wrapped in flying cl…
A Sense of something that is sad… Of something that is felt as death… As shadows, phantoms, in a haunted… Around me seems to melt. It rises, so it seems, from the de…