#AmericanWriters
The moon is a curving flower of go… The sky is still and blue; The moon was made for the sky to h… And I for you; The moon is a flower without a ste…
Shall we, too, rise forgetful from… And shall my soul that lies within… Remember nothing, as the blowing s… Forgets the palm where long blue s… When winds along the darkened dese…
I went back to the clanging city, I went back where my old loves sta… But my heart was full of my new lo… My eyes were laughing and unafraid… I met one who had loved me madly
Lyric night of the lingering Indi… Shadowy fields that are scentless… Never a bird, but the passionless… Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far-of…
Willow in your April gown Delicate and gleaming, Do you mind in years gone by All my dreaming? Spring was like a call to me
Were you a Greek when all the wor… Before the weary years that pass a… Had scattered all the temples on t… Before the moss to marble columns… I think your snowy tunic must have…
A wind is blowing over my soul, I hear it cry the whole night thro… Is there no peace for me on earth Except with you? Alas, the wind has made me wise,
Deep in the night the cry of a swa… Under the stars he flew, Keen as pain was his call to follo… Over the world to you. Love in my heart is a cry forever
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…
WAVES are the sea’s white daught… And raindrops the children of rain… But why for my shimmering body Have I a mother like Pain? Night is the mother of stars,
There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I for you. You were the wind and I the sea -
A FOG drifts in, the heavy laden Cold white ghost of the sea’ One by one the hills go out, The road and the pepper-tree. I watch the fog float in at the wi…
“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,
Rose, when I remember you, Little lady, scarcely two, I am suddenly aware Of the angels in the air. All your softly gracious ways
The shining line of motors, The swaying motor-bus, The prancing dancing horses Are passing by for us. The sunlight on the steeple,