#AmericanWriters
The bubbled blue of morning-glory… Balloon-blown foam of moonflowers,… Of clematis, through which Septem… Song-hearted, rich in realized des… Are flanked by hotter hues: by taw…
From the idyll 'Wild Thorn and L… O Maytime woods! O Maytime lanes… And stars, that knew how often the… Beside the path, where woodbine od… Between the drowsy eyelids of the…
Youth, with an arrogant air, Passes me by: Age, on his tottering staff, Stops with a sigh. ‘Here is a flower, ’he says,
It’s-Oh, for the hills, where the… With a vagabond foot that follows! And a cheer-up hand that he claps… Your arm with the hearty words, '… We’ll soon be out of the hollows,
From hill and hollow, side by side… The shadows came, like dreams, to… And watch, mysterious, sunset-eyed… The wool-winged moths and bats afl… And the lone owl that cried and cr…
Here where the coves indent the sh… And fill with ebb and flowing of t… Whereon some barge rocks or some d… By which old orchards bloom, or, f… Pelt every lane with fruit; where…
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.
All were in league to capture Lov… The rock, the stream, the tree; The very Month was leader of The whole conspiracy. It led Love where wild waters met…
There is no rhyme that is half so… As the song of the wind in the rip… There is no metre that’s half so f… As the lilt of the brook under roc… And the loveliest lyric I ever he…
When Spring comes down the wildwo… A crocus in her ear, Sweet in her train, returned with… The Love of Yester-year Will follow, carolling his lay,
Unto what end, I ask, unto what e… Is all this effort, this unrest an… Work that avails not? strife and m… Ambitions vain that rack our heart… Did labor but avail! did it defend
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.
Once when it had rained all night And all day, the next day, why, In our yard, a lot of white, Dumpy toadstools grew close by Our old peach tree: some were high…
You, who are four years old; You, with the eyes of blue; You with the age of gold Young in the heart of you, Boy with the eyes of blue:
The locust gyres; the heat intensi… The rain-crow croaks from hot-leaf… The butterfly, a flame-fleck, aiml… Droops down the air and knows not… Beside the stream, whose bed in pl…