#AmericanWriters
Out, out in the open fields, Where the great, green book of Go… The book that its wisdom yields To each soul that is not a clod, Lies wide for the world to read,
Night and the sea, and heaven over… Cloudless and vast, as ’twere of h… Wherein the facets gleamed of many… And the half-moon a crystal radian… Then suddenly, with burning banner…
The hush of death is on the night.… That loves to whisper to the wind;… That dance with it, are silent: on… No motion mid the fields, as dry a… What light is that? It cannot be…
The hills are full of prophecies And ancient voices of the dead; Of hidden shapes that no man sees, Pale, visionary presences, That speak the things no tongue ha…
There is a woodland witch who lies With bloom-bright limbs and beam-b… Among the water-flags that rank The slow brook’s heron-haunted ban… The dragon-flies, brass-bright and…
What words of mine can tell the sp… Of garden ways I know so well?- The path that takes me in the spri… Past quince-trees where the bluebi… And peonies are blossoming,
Like some wild child that laughs a… Impatient of its mother’s arms, The wood brook from the hillside l… Eager to reach the neighboring far… Complaining crystal in its throat
And I told the boy next door What Jack Frost had done; and he Said, 'Ah shucks! that’s nothing;… I have seen all that before. You just come along with me;
I Heard a reed among the hills, A woodland reed of music where, Like madcap children, ran the rill… Boisterous, with wildly flowing ha… I knew it for a pipe the Spring
Hearts, that have cheered us ever,… With words that helped us on the r… The hard, long road of life to who… More than the heart can ever hope… Are they not touchstones, soul-tra…
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…
There is a hall in every house, Behind whose wainscot gnaws the mo… Along whose sides are empty rooms, Peopled with dreams and ancient do… When down this hall you take your…
What will you send her, What will you tell her, That shall unbend her, That shall compel her? Love, that shall fold her
Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, ‘Blacker than a midnight blast,’ Mother said. And he began Crying, ‘Charcoal! charcoal!
Thou, oh, thou! Thou of the chorded shell and gold… Of the dark eyes and pale pacific… Music, who by the plangent waves, Or in the echoing night of labyrin…