#AmericanWriters
The wild oxalis Among the valleys Lifts up its chalice Of pink and pearl; And, balsam-breathing,
The waters leap, The waters roar; And on the shore One sycamore Stands, towering hoar.
One night when trees were tumbled… And wild winds shook at sea the sa… Old Gammer Gaffer, lean and brown… Chuckled and whistled on her nail; Then seized her broom and, mountin…
Leaves fall and flowers fade, Days come and go: Now is sweet Summer laid Low in her leafy glade, Low like a fragrant maid,
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
Beautiful-bosomed, O Night, in th… Move with majesty onward! soaring,… As a singer may soar the notes of… The stars and the moon Through the clerestories high of t…
Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.
Sunflowers wither and lilies die, Poppies are pods of seeds; The first red leaves on the pathwa… Like blood of a heart that bleeds. Weary alway will it be to-day,
Wrapped round of the night, as a m… Down, down through vast storeys of… Of the heaven, the thunder! on sta… Colossal of tread, like a giant, f… Goes striding in rattling armor...
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…
Bald, with old eyes a blood-shot b… Into the Boar’s-Head Inn: the ho… His fulvous face, and all his raim… Of all the stews and all the East… Upon the battered board again he d…
This is the heart’s own day: With dreaming eyes Life seems to look away Beyond the skies Into some long-gone May.
One with the Heaven above Am I its bliss: Part of its truth and love, And what God is. I heal the soul and mind:
What were this life without her? Joy, whose young face is sweet With dreams that flit about her, And rapture wild of feet! With hope, that knows no languor,
Youth, with an arrogant air, Passes me by: Age, on his tottering staff, Stops with a sigh. ‘Here is a flower, ’he says,