#AmericanWriters
When I was bold, when I was bold– And that’s a hundred years!- Oh, never I thought my breast cou… The terrible weight of tears. I said: “Now some be dolorous;
Carlyle combined the lit’ry life With throwing teacups at his wife, Remarking, rather testily, “Oh, stop your dodging, Mrs. C.!”
If you should sail for Trebizond,… Or cry another name in your first… Or see me board a train, and fail… Appropriately, I’d clutch my brea… And you, if I should wander throu…
And now I have another lad! No longer need you tell How all my nights are slow and sad For loving you too well. His ways are not your wicked ways,
Always I knew that it could not l… (Gathering clouds, and the snowfla… Now it is part of the golden past (Darkening skies, and the night-wi… It is but cowardice to pretend.
I cannot rest, I cannot rest In straight and shiny wood, My woven hands upon my breast— The dead are all so good! The earth is cool across their eye…
Long I fought the driving lists, Plume a-stream and armor clanging; Link on link, between my wrists, Now my heavy freedom’s hanging.
They say of me, and so they should… It’s doubtful if I come to good. I see acquaintances and friends Accumulating dividends, And making enviable names
Oh, I should like to ride the sea… A roaring buccaneer; A cutlass banging at my knees, A dirk behind my ear. And when my captives’ chains would…
They say He was a serious child, And quiet in His ways; They say the gentlest lady smiled To hear the neighbors’ praise. The coffers of her heart would clo…
Her mind lives in a quiet room, A narrow room, and tall, With pretty lamps to quench the gl… And mottoes on the wall. There all the things are waxen nea…
Although I work, and seldom cease… At Dumas pere and Dumas fils, Alas, I cannot make me care For Dumas fils and Dumas pere.
Here in my heart I am Helen; I’m Aspasia and Hero, at least. I’m Judith, and Jael, and Madame… I’m Salome, moon of the East. Here in my soul I am Sappho;
We shall have our little day. Take my hand and travel still Round and round the little way, Up and down the little hill. It is good to love again;
Roses, rooted warm in earth, Bud in rhyme, another age; Lilies know a ghostly birth Strewn along a patterned page; Golden lad and chimbley sweep