#1928 #AmericanWriters #WestRunningBrook
We asked for rain. It didn’t flas… It didn’t lose its temper at our d… And blow a gale. It didn’t misund… And give us more than our spokesma… And just because we owned to a wis…
A voice said, Look me in the star… And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth…
A Stranger came to the door at ev… And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his… And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than t…
If, as they say, some dust thrown… Will keep my talk from getting ove… I’m not the one for putting off th… Let it be overwhelming, off a roof And round a corner, blizzard snow…
We chanced in passing by that afte… To catch it in a sort of special p… Among tar-banded ancient cherry tr… Set well back from the road in ran… The little cottage we were speakin…
Square Matthew Hale’s young graft… Began to blossom at the age of fiv… And after having entertained the b… And cast its flowers and all the s… It set itself to keep those three…
God made a beatous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden
A house that lacks, seemingly, mis… With doors that none but the wind… Its floor all littered with glass… It stands in a garden of old-fashi… I pass by that way in the gloaming…
Was there even a cause too lost, Ever a cause that was lost too lon… Or that showed with the lapse of t… For the generous tears of youth an…
Wind the season-climate mixer In my Witches’ Weather Primer Says to make this Fall Elixir First you let the summer simmer, Using neither spoon nor skimmer,
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass
I let myself in at the kitchen doo… ‘It’s you,' she said. 'I can’t ge… Not answering your knock. I can n… Let people in than I can keep the… I’m getting too old for my size,…
When a friend calls to me from the… And slows his horse to a meaning w… I don’t stand still and look aroun… On all the hills I haven’t hoed, And shout from where I am, What i…
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
By June our brook’s run out of so… Sought for much after that, it wil… Either to have gone groping underg… (And taken with it all the Hyla b… That shouted in the mist a month a…