#AmericanWriters
The golden discs of the rattlesnak… That spangle the woods and dance– No gleam of gold that the twilight… Is strong as their necromance: For, under the oaks where the wood…
Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter… Now East, now West, now North, n… Bearing in one harsh hand dark dea… And in the other, sunshine and a r…
White art thou, O Lilith! as the… Glitters and clingingly silvers an… Of the beautiful breasts of the ny… That crystal and pearl by clusters… Forests of tenebrous palm.
Deep in the hush of a mighty wood I came to a place of dread and dre… And forms of shadows, whose shapes… The searching swords of the sun’s… Builders of silence and solitude.
The Fool 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…
I had not found the road too short… As once I had in days of youth, In that old forest of long ruth, Where my young knighthood broke it… Ere love and it had come to part,
When from the tower, like some swe… The bell drops petals of the hour, That says the world is homing, My heart puts off its garb of care And clothes itself in gold and vai…
I know a pool, whose crystalline r… Sleeps under walls of granite, whe… Leans looking at its image, line f… Repeated with the sumach and wild-… That redden on the rocks; where, a…
THEY pass, with heavy eyes and h… Before the Christ upon the Cross, The Nations, stricken with their… And lifting faces of despair. What is the prayer they pray to H…
Beyond the Northern Lights, in re… Of twilight, where the world is gl… And pale as Loki in his cavern wh… The serpent’s slaver burns him to… I saw the phantasms of gigantic me…
The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, st… Croaks open; and harsh wagon-wheel… Creaking through cold; the horses’… Around their nostrils; and with sn… The hut is barely seen, from which…
O Dark-Eyed goddess of the marble… Whose look is silence and whose to… Who walkest lonely through the wor… Who sittest lonely with Life’s bl… Who in the hollow hours of night’s…
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…
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,
Non numero horas nisi serenas When Fall drowns morns in mist, i… In soul I am a part of it; A portion of its humid beams, A form of fog, I seem to flit