#AmericanWriters
Around its mountain many footpaths… But only one unto its top attains; Not he who searches closest, takes… But he who seeks not, that one way…
There’s a scent of pungent wood sm… And a jack-o’-lantern glare, a wil… ’Tis the brush that burns and smou… The old New England ways, When Autumn plants her gipsy tent…
Ah me! too soon the autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills… Too soon among the forest gums Premonitory flame she spills, Bleak, melancholy flame that kills…
ITS friendship and its carelessne… Did lead me many a mile, Through goat’s-rue, with its dim c… And pink and pearl-white smile; Through crowfoot, with its golden…
Do you know the way that goes Over fields of rue and rose, Warm of scent and hot of hue, Roofed with heaven’s bluest blue, To the Vale of Dreams Come True?
COME, let’s climb into our attic… In our house that’s old and gray! Life, you’re old and I’m rheumati… And—it’s close of day. Lay aside your rags and tatters,
I saw the spirit of the pines that… With spirits of the ocean and the… Against the tumult rose its tatter… Wild rain and darkness round it li… Fearful it stood, limbed like some…
She sits among the iris stalks Of babbling brooks; and leans for… Among the river’s lily flowers, Or on their whiteness walks: Above dark forest pools, gray rock…
The Moonshiner He leans far out and watches: Dow… The road seems but a ribbon throug… The bluff, from which he gazes, wh… Some ox-team or some horseman come…
Bee-Bitten in the orchard hung The peach; or, fallen in the weeds… Lay rotting, where still sucked an… The gray bee, boring to its seed’s Pink pulp and honey blackly stung.
A lilac mist maizes warm the hills… And silvery through it threads a.s… The redbird’s cadence throbs and t… The jaybirds scream. The bluets’ stars begin to gleam,
I found myself among the trees What time the reapers ceased to re… And in the sunflower-blooms the be… Huddled brown heads and went to sl… Rocked by the balsam-breathing bre…
At the moon’s down-going let it be On the quarry hill with its one gn… The red-rock road of the underbrus… Where the woman came through the s… The sumac high and the elder thick…
A RIVER binds the lonely land, A river like a silver band, To crags and shores of yellow sand… It is a place where kildees cry, And endless marshes eastward lie,
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…