#AmericanWriters
Francesca’s life that was a limpid… Agleam against the shimmer of a sw… Which falling, quenched the flame… To free the house of Rimino from… Francesca’s death that blazed alof…
I must have passed the crest a whi… And now I am going down— Strange to have crossed the crest… But the brambles were always grabb… All the morning I thought how pro…
Hope went by and Peace went by And would not enter in; Youth went by and Health wnt by And Love that is their kin. Those within the house shed tears
The winds have grown articulate in… And voiced again the wail of ancie… That smote upon the winds of long… The cries of Trojan women as they… The quivering moan of pale Androm…
Here in the teeth of this triumpha… That shakes the naked shadows on t… Making a key-board of the earth to… From clattering tree and hedge a s… Bear witness for me that I loved…
We stood in the shrill electric li… Dumb and sick in the whirling din We who had all of love to say And a single second to say it in. “Good-by!” “Good-by!”—you turned…
Let it be forgotten, as a flower i… Forgotten as a fire that once was… Let it be forgotten forever and ev… Time is a kind friend, he will mak… If anyone asks, say it was forgott…
Like some rare queen of old romanc… Who loved the gleam of helm and la… Is she. A harper of King Arthur’s days Should praise her in a hundred lay…
Oh, there are eyes that he can see… And hands to make his hands rejoic… But to my lover I must be Only a voice. Oh, there are breasts to bear his…
DEATH went up the hall Unseen by every one, Trailing twilight robes Past the nurse and the nun. He paused at every door
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
A half-hour more and you will lean To gather me close in the old swee… But oh, to the woman over the sea Who will come at the close of day? A half-hour more and I will hear
When I can make my thoughts come… To walk like ladies up and down, Each one puts on before the glass Her most becoming hat and gown. But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
I. Spirit’s House From naked stones of agony I will build a house for me; As a mason all alone I will raise it, stone by stone,
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