#AmericanWriters #PoemsOfPower
Over my desk in a dark office bend… Dim seems the sunlight and dull se… But when the afternoon draws towar… Here waits my steel steed-I mount… Like cobwebs of silver I see in t…
There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dar… They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they… There’s the ghost of a Hope
I think I hear the sound of horse… Beating upon the graveled avenue. Go to the window that looks on the… He would not let me die alone, I… Back to the couch the patient watc…
Build on resolve, and not upon reg… The structure of thy future. Do… Among the shadows of old sins, but… Thine own soul’s light shine on th… And dissipate the darkness. Wast…
I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go; But the fact stands clear that I… In this world of pleasure and woe. And out of the mist and murk
Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mys… Nor question that the tenor of my… Past, present and the future, is r… There in my horoscope. I do beli… That yon dead moon compels the hau…
Said the manicure scissors one day… ‘The shears always have their own… And I think it absurd That I am deterred From entering into life’s fray.
To Miss Eva Russell. The spring time is deaf to our ple… The meadows are brown as can be. The hilltops are bleak and unlovel… No thrush sits and sings on the tr…
You are the moon, dear love, and… The tide of hope swells high withi… And hides the rough dark rocks of… When your fond eyes smile near in… But when that loving face is turne…
All through the night time, and al… Dreading the morning and dreading… Nearer and nearer we drift to the… Season of beauty and season of bli… Leaves on the linden, and sun on t…
GOOD-BY to the cradle, the dear… The rude hand of Progress has thr… No more to its motion, o’er Sleep… Our play-weary wayfarers peacefull… No more by the rhythm of slow-movi…
I must do as you do? Your way I o… Is a very good way, and still, There are sometimes two straight r… One over, one under the hill. You are treading the safe and the…
Today I had a burial of my dead. There was no shroud, no coffin, an… No prayers were uttered and no tea… I only turned a picture to the wal… A picture that had hung within my…
These quiet Autumn days, My soul, like Noah’s dove, on air… Goes out and searches for the hidd… Beyond the hills of haze. With mournful, pleading cries,
The impulse of all love is to crea… God was so full of love, in his em… He clasped the empty nothingness o… And low! the solar system! High i… The mighty sun sat, so supreme and…