#AmericanWriters
He told a story to her, A story old yet new And was it of the Faëry Folk That dance along the dew? The night was hung with silence
All desolate she sate her down Upon the marble of the temple’s st… You would have thought her, with h… Flushed cheeks and hazel hair, A dryad dreaming there.
A heritage of hopes and fears And dreams and memory, And vices of ten thousand years God gives to thee. A house of clay, the home of Fate…
This was her home; one mossy gable… Above the cedars and the locust tr… This was her home, whose beauty no… A lonely memory for melodies The wild birds sing, the wild bird…
In classic beauty, cold, immaculat… A voiceful sculpture, stern and st… Upon her brow deep-chiselled love… That sorrow o’er dead roses in her…
Below, the tawny Tagus swept Past royal gardens, breathing balm… Upon his couch the monarch slept; The world was still; the night was… Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray
I HEARD a Spirit singing as, be… Its radiant form went swinging lik… In its song prophetic voices mixed… As when, loud, the World rejoices… And it said:
Winds that cavern heaven and the c… And canyon with cerulean blue, Great rifts down which the stormy… Like some bright seraph, who, Mailed in intensity of silver mail…
Far as the eye can see, in domes a… Buttress and curve, ruins of shift… In whose wild making wind and sea… The white dunes stretch. The wind… Striving for strange effects that…
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hil… Between whose breezy vistas gulfs… Pilot great clouds like towering a… And hawk and buzzard breast the az… With many a foaming fall and glimm…
Those were the days of doubt. How… It all comes back! This ribbon, s… Brings that far past so very near I lose my own identity, And seem two beings: one that’s he…
Each form of beauty’s but the new… Of thoughts more beautiful than fo… Sceptics, who search with unanoint… Never the Earth’s wild fairy-danc…
‘These winter days,’ my father say… ‘When mornings blow and bite and f… And hens sit cackling in the straw… Stiff with the frost as gates that… Remind me of my youth when, raw,
A sense of sadness in the golden a… A pensiveness, that has no part in… As if the Season, by some woodlan… Braiding the early blossoms in her… Seeing her loveliness reflected th…
I oft have met her slowly wanderin… Beside a leafy stream, her locks b… Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fa… As if on her the sumach copse had… Or I have seen her sitting, tall…