#AmericanWriters
Briar and fennel and chinquapin, And rue and ragweed everywhere; The field seemed sick as a soul wi… Or dead of an old despair, Born of an ancient care.
The Winter Wind, the wind of deat… Who knocked upon my door, Now through the keyhole entereth, Invisible and hoar: He breathes around his icy breath
He makes a roadway of the crumblin… Or on the fallen tree,-brown as a… Fall stripes with russet,-gambols… Green twilight of the woods. We s… He comes, nor whither (in a time s…
Geraldine, Geraldine, Do you remember where The willows used to screen The water flowing fair? The mill-stream’s banks of green
The slow reflection of a woman’s f… Grew, as by witchcraft, in the ova… Of that strange glass on which the… As cruel as death beneath the aubu… The dark eyes burned; and, o’er th…
Thou art the music that I hear in… The poetry that lures me on in dre… The magic, thou, that holds my tho… Of young romance in revery’s mysti… The lily’s aura, and the damask de…
Ah, shall I follow, on the hills, The Spring, as wild wings follow? Where wild-plum trees make wan the… Crabapple trees the hollow, Haunts of the bee and swallow?
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,
A Sea of onyx are the skies, Cloud-islanded with fire; Such nacre-colored flame as dyes A sea-shell’s rosy spire; And at its edge one star sinks slo…
TEACH me the secret of thy lovel… That, being made wise, I may aspi… As beautiful in thought, and so ex… Immortal truths to earth’s mortali… Though to my soul ability be less
I had the strangest dream last nig… I dreamed the poppies, red and whi… That over-run the flower-bed, Changed to wee women, white and re… Who, jeweled with the twinkling we…
Love hath no place in her, Though in her bosom be Love-thoughts and dreams that stir Longings that know not me: Love hath no place in her,
When the lily nods in slumber, And the roses all are sleeping; When the night hangs deep and umbe… And the stars their watch are keep… When the clematis uncloses
More than cakes or anything I like tales of shivering. Once a scarecrow on a hill Tossed his ragged arms at me That was when I went to see
Lay but a finger on That pallid petal sweet, It trembles gray and wan Beneath the passing feet. But soft! blown rose, we know