#AmericanWriters
Oh, roses, roses everywhere but on… But one wild-rose for me, my boy,… My rose of roses, dear my lad, my… The world may keep its roses now,… Oh, song and singing everywhere; t…
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
I Heard the hylas in the bottomla… Piping a reed-note in the praise o… The South-wind brought the music… As 't were a hundred strands Of guttural gold smitten of elfin…
BLACK clouds hung low and heavy, Above the sunset glare; And in the garden dimly We wandered here and there. So full of strife, of trouble
You have forgot: it once was red With life, this rose, to which you… When, there in happy days gone by, You plucked it, on my breast to li… ‘Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a…
March set heel upon the flowers, Trod and trampled them for hours: But when April’s bugles rang, Up their starry legions sprang, Radiant in the sun-shot showers.
Here is a tale for children and th… There was a fool, a man who’d had… But missed them, somehow; lost the… Tag-ends of things with which he’d… Of his cracked head, as panes are…
Tattered, in ragged raiment of the… The Night arrives. Outside the wi… He stands and, streaming, taps upo… Or, crouching down beside the cell… Letting his hat-brim drain,
She stood waist-deep among the bri… Above in twisted lengths were roll… The sunset’s tangled whorls of gol… Blown from the west’s cloud-pillar… And in the hush no sound did mar,
Squat-nosed and broad, of big and… A tavern visage, apoplexy haunts, All pimple-puffed: the Falstaff-l… Of fat debauchery, whose veined ch… A flabby purple: rusty-spurred he…
‘I rode to death, for I fought fo… The Lady Maurine of noble name, ’The fair and faithless!-Though l… Is love the wiser?-Love made song ‘Of all my life; and the soul that…
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…
The day, all fierce with carmine,… An Indian face towards Earth and… The west, like some gaunt vase, in… Its ashes under smouldering skies, Athwart whose bowl one red cloud s…
I dream again I 'm in the lane That leads me home through night a… Again the fence I see and, dense, The garden, wet and sweet of sense… Then mother’s window, with its sta…
An old lane, an old gate, an old h… A wild wood, a wild brook they wil… In boyhood I knew them, and still… Down deep in my heart’s core I he… Through tear-mists behold them ben…