#AmericanWriters
Upon the mossed rock by the spring She sits, forgetful of her pail, Lost in remote remembering Of that which may no more avail. Her thin, pale hair is dimly dress…
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…
Nevermore at doorways that are bar… Shall the madcap wind knock and th… Nor the circle which thou once did… Shine with footsteps of the neighb… Visitors for whom thou oft didst h…
How often in our search for joy be… Hoping for happiness we chance on…
THE black night showed its hungry… And gnawed with sleet at roof and… Beneath the door I heard it breat… A beast that growled in vain. The hunter wind stalked up and dow…
He waited till within her tower Her taper signalled him the hour. He was a prince both fair and brav… What hope that he would love her s… He of the Persian dynasty;
The wild oxalis Among the valleys Lifts up its chalice Of pink and pearl; And, balsam-breathing,
These are the things I pray Heave… To blow the ashes of the years awa… Or keep aglow forever 'neath their… The fire that warms when Life’s o… First Faith, that gazed into our…
She was a queen. 'Midst mutes and… A mameluke, he loved her.—Waves Dashed not more hopelessly the pav… Of her high marble palace-stair Than lashed his love his heart’s d…
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,
Deep in the hollow wood he found a… Winding unto a water, dim and gray… Grayer and dimmer than the break o… By which a wildrose blossomed; flo… Leaning above its image hour on ho…
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and h… Before the Christ upon the Cross, The Nations, stricken with their… And lifting faces of despair. What is the prayer they pray to H…
Thin, chisel-fine a cricket chippe… The crystal silence into sound; And where the branches dreamed and… A grasshopper its dagger stripped And on the humming darkness ground…
No more to strip the roses from The rose-boughs of her porch’s pla… I dreamed last night that I was h… Beside a rose her face. I must have smiled in sleep who kn…
She stood among the longest ferns The valley held; and in her hand One blossom, like the light that b… Vermilion o’er a sunset land; And round her hair a twisted band
