#AmericanWriters
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
They said he sent his love to me, They wouldn’t put it in my hand, And when I asked them where it wa… They said I couldn’t understand. I thought they must have hidden it…
I shall gather myself into myself… I shall take my scattered selves a… Fusing them into a polished crysta… Where I can see the moon and the… I shall sit like a sibyl, hour aft…
O mother, I am sick of love, I cannot laugh nor lift my head, My bitter dreams have broken me, I would my love were dead. “Drink of the draught I brew for…
I love too much; I am a river Surging with spring that seeks the… I am too generous a giver, Love will not stoop to drink of me… His feet will turn to desert place…
I turned the key and opened wide t… To enter my deserted room again, Where thro’ the long hot months th… Was it not lonely when across the… No step was heard, no sudden song…
When the horns wear thin And the noise, like a garment outw… Falls from the night, The tattered and shivering night, That thinks she is gay;
PLACES I love come back to me l… Hush me and heal me when I am ver… I see the oak woods at Saxton’s f… In a flare of crimson by the frost… And I am thirsty for the spring i…
You bound strong sandals on my fee… You gave me bread and wine, And sent me under sun and stars, For all the world was mine. Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
I am wild, I will sing to the tre… I will sing to the stars in the sk… I love, I am loved, he is mine, Now at last I can die! I am sandaled with wind and with f…
Pierrot stands in the garden Beneath a waning moon, And on his lute he fashions A little silver tune. Pierrot plays in the garden,
I asked the heaven of stars What I should I give my love— It answered me with silence, Silence above. I asked the darkened sea
Perhaps if Death is kind, and the… We will come back to earth some fr… And take these lanes to find the s… Breathe the same honeysuckle, low… We will come down at night to thes…
My heart is heavy with many a song Like ripe fruit bearing down the t… But I can never give you one— My songs do not belong to me. Yet in the evening, in the dusk
He trod the earth but yesterday, And now he treads the stars. He left us in the April time He praised so often in his rhyme, He left the singing and the lyre a…