#AmericanWriters
STEELY stars and moon of brass, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon… Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tr…
The spring is fresh and fearless And every leaf is new, The world is brimmed with moonligh… The lilac brimmed with dew. Here in the moving shadows
THE sun was gone, and the moon wa… Over the blue Connecticut hills; The west was rosy, the east was fl… And over my head the swallows rush… This way and that, with changeful…
O LOVELY chance, what can I do To give my gratefulness to you? You rise between myself and me With a wise persistency; I would have broken body and soul,
MY heart is a garden tired with a… Heaped with bending asters and dah… In the hazy sunshine, the garden r… The drench of rains and a snow-dro… Daffodils blowing in the cold wind…
The wind is tossing the lilacs, The new leaves laugh in the sun, And the petals fall on the orchard… But for me the spring is done. Beneath the apple blossoms
How many million Aprils came Before I ever knew How white a cherry bough could be, A bed of squills, how blue. And many a dancing April
The April night is still and swee… With flowers on every tree; Peace comes to them on quiet feet, But not to me. My peace is hidden in his breast
Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed f… I pray you tell to me Is there a land where Love is not… By shore of any sea? For I am weary of the god,
I have loved hours at sea, gray ci… The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill,
I am a cloud in the heaven’s heigh… The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and… I cast my shadow on hill and sea— But why do the pines on the mounta…
Your face is set against a fervent… Before the thirsty hills that seve… Return the sun’s hot glory, gold o… Where Agamemnon and Cassandra lie… Your eyes are blind whose light sh…
I went out on an April morning All alone, for my heart was high, I was a child of the shining meado… I was a sister of the sky. There in the windy flood of mornin…
OH to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December; Resting, as a tree rests
You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams