#AmericanWriters
For W. P. The little park was filled with pe… The walks were carpeted with snow, But every iron gate was locked. Lest if we entered, peace would go…
MY forefathers gave me My spirit’s shaken flame, The shape of hands, the beat of he… The letters of my name. But it was my lovers,
DAY, you have bruised and beaten… As rain beats down the bright, pro… Beaten my body, bruised my soul, Left me nothing lovely or whole— Yet I have wrested a gift from yo…
IN the silver light after a storm… Under dripping boughs of bright ne… I take the low path to hear the me… Alone and high-hearted as if I we… What have I to fear in life or de…
Love entered in my heart one day, A sad, unwelcome guest; But when he begged that he might s… I let him wait and rest. He broke my sleep with sorrowing,
Her voice is like clear water That drips upon a stone In forests far and silent Where Quiet plays alone. Her thoughts are like the lotus
The summer dawn came over-soon, The earth was like hot iron at noo… In Nazareth; There fell no rain to ease the hea… And dusk drew on with tired feet
When I am dying, let me know That I loved the blowing snow Although it stung like whips; That I loved all lovely things And I tried to take their stings
IN the last year I have learned How few men are worth my trust; I have seen the friend I loved Struck by death into the dust, And fears I never knew before
“Four winds blowing thro’ the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true.” Said the wind from out the south,
I have come the selfsame path To the selfsame door, Years have left the roses there Burning as before While I watch them in the wind
Fairy snow, fairy snow, Blowing, blowing everywhere, Would that I Too, could fly Lightly, lightly through the air.
REDBIRDS, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know; Redbud, buckberry,
I hid the love within my heart, And lit the laughter in my eyes, That when we meet he may not know My love that never dies. But sometimes when he dreams at ni…
Evening, and all the birds In a chorus of shimmering sound Are easing their hearts of joy For miles around. The air is blue and sweet,