#AmericanWriters
Morning Her rain-kissed face is fresh as r… Is cool and fresh as a rain-wet le… She glimmers at my window-pane, And all my grief
Again, in dreams, the veteran hear… The bugle and the drum; Again the boom of battle nears, Again the bullets hum: Again he mounts, again he cheers,
She took her babe, the child of sh… And wrapped it warmly in her shawl… From house to house for work. Pro… A look of wonder on her; raised a… Of Christian outrage. None would…
Here is the place where Lovelines… Between the river and the wooded h… Within a valley where the Springt… Her firstling wind-flowers under b… Where Summer sits braiding her wa…
THE wind that met her in the park… Came hurrying to my side— It ran to me, it leapt to me, And nowhere would abide. It whispered in my ear a word,
A SHADOW glided down the way Where sunset groped among the tree… And all the woodland bower, asway With trouble of the evening breeze… A shape, it moved with head held d…
Winds that cavern heaven and the c… And canyon with cerulean blue, Great rifts down which the stormy… Like some bright seraph, who, Mailed in intensity of silver mail…
It is the time when, by the forest… The touch-me-nots hang fairy folly… When ferns and flowers fill the li… Of rocks with colour, rich as orie… And in my heart I hear a voice th…
Dear heart and love! what happines… And watch the firelight’s varying… On thy young face; and through tho… As through glad windows-mark fair… In sumptuous chambers of thy soul’…
I have heard the wind on a winter’… When the snow-cold moon looked ici… My window’s flickering firelight, Where the frost his witchery drew: I have heard the wind on a winter’…
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…
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:
Among the fields the camomile Seems blown mist in the lightning’… Cool, rainy odors drench the air; Night speaks above; the angry smil… Of storm within her stare.
The Alps of the Tyrol are dark wi… Where, foaming under the mountain… The Inn’s long water sounds and s… Beyond, are peaks where the mornin… An icy rose; and the evening leave…
I took the road again last night On which my boyhood’s hills look d… The old road leading from the town… The village there below the height… Its cottage homes, all huddled bro…