#AmericanWriters
Hey, little boy, little boy, come… Hey, little boy, little boy, Andy… Hey, little boy, little boy, can i… Your mouth is crumbed with candy?’ ‘What’s that to you? what’s that t…
The night is sad with silver and t… And the woodland silence listens t… Of the Lady of the Fountain, whom… With her limbs of samite whiteness… Whom the boyish South Wind seeks…
O Days that hold us; and years th… And dreams and mem’ries no time de… Where lie the islands, the morning… And where the highlands we knew wh… Oh, tell us, whether the happy hea…
One tree, storm-twisted, like an e… The sea-wind in its hair, beside a… Waves frantic arms, as if in wild-… At all the world. Gigantic, grey… Great boulders shoulder through th…
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…
THROUGH some strange sense of s… I find what all have found before, The presence I have feared so muc… The unknown’s immaterial door. I seek not and it comes to me;
Not here, O belovéd! not here let… Out there where the storm can enfo… Its breast, that is rainy and cool… In the luminous night of’ the wood… Not here, O belovéd! not here! bu…
A lonely barn, lost in a field of… A fallen fence, where partly hangs… The skies are darkening and the ho… The Indian dusk comes, red in rai… Along a path, which from a woodlan…
Where the violet shadows brood Under cottonwoods and beeches, Through whose leaves the restless… Of the river glance, I’ve stood, While the red-bird and the thrush
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
Over the roar of cities, Over the hush of the hills, Mounts ever a song that never stop… A voice that never stills. Epic-loud as the sea is,
Since Fancy taught me in her scho… I know her tricks-These are not m… Nor fireflies; but masking Elflan… Whose link-boys torch them to Tit…
THERE is a smell of roses in the… Tea-roses, dead of bloom; An invalid, she sits there in the… And contemplates her doom. The pattern of the paper, and the…
Yea, why I love thee let my heart… I look upon thy face and then divi… How men could die for beauty, such… Deeming it sweet To lay my life and manhood at thy…
White clouds, like thistledown at… That drift through heaven’s azure… The sun beams down; the weedy grou… Vibrates with many an insect sound… Blackberry-lilies in the noon