#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
THE SONG-BIRDS? are they flo… The song-birds of the summer-time, That sang their souls into the day… And set the laughing days to rhyme… No catbird scatters through the hu…
Ye have ploughed the field like ca… Ye have sown the dragon-seed, Are ye ready now for battle? For fighters are what we need. Have ye done with taking and givin…
In her wimple of wind and her slip… The twilight comes like a little g… Herding her owls with many’tu-whoo… Her little brown owls in the woodl… Where dimly she walks in her whisp…
The day is dead; and in the west The slender crescent of the moon Diana’s crystal-kindled crest Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon. What is the murmur in the dell?
Those hewers of the clouds, the W… At the four compass-points,-are ou… I hear their sandals trample on th… I hear their voices trumpet throug… Builders of storm, God’s workmen,…
Love hath no place in her, Though in her bosom be Love-thoughts and dreams that stir Longings that know not me: Love hath no place in her,
The shadows sit and stand about it… Like uninvited guests and poor; And all the long, hot summer day The grating locust dins its rounde… In one old sycamore.
A Tortured tree in a huddled holl… On whose gnarled boughs three leav… A strip of path that the hunters f… That leads to fields of the wind’s… And a rain-washed hill with the wi…
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…
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hil… Between whose breezy vistas gulfs… Pilot great clouds like towering a… And hawk and buzzard breast the az… With many a foaming fall and glimm…
Athwart a sky of brass long welts… A path of gold the wide Ohio lies… Beneath the sunset, billowing mani… The dark-blue hilltops rise. And westward dips the crescent of…
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.
His Birthday, October the 7th, 19… RILEY, whose pen has made the wo… Whose Art has kept you young thro… Brimming our hearts with laughter… Holding her faith pure to the very…
A Sense of something that is sad… Of something that is felt as death… As shadows, phantoms, in a haunted… Around me seems to melt. It rises, so it seems, from the de…
Low, swallow-swept and gray, Between the orchard and the spring… All its wide windows overflowing h… And crannied doors a-swing, The old barn stands to-day.
