#AmericanWriters
I sought among the drifting leaves… The golden leaves that once were g… To see if Love were hiding there And peeping out between. For thro’ the silver showers of M…
I’m happy, I’m happy, I saw my love to-day. He came along the crowded street, By all the ladies gay, And oh, he smiled and spoke to me
Impassioned singer of the happy ti… When all the world was waking into… And dew still glistened on the tan… And lingered on the branches of th… Oh peerless singer of the golden r…
I was a queen, and I have lost my… A wife, and I have broken all my… A lover, and I ruined him I loved… There is no other havoc left to do… A little month ago I was a queen,
The kings they came from out the s… All dressed in ermine fine; They bore Him gold and chrysopras… And gifts of precious wine. The shepherds came from out the no…
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,
We held the book together timidly, Whose antique music in an alien to… Once rose among the dew-drenched v… Beneath a high Castilian balcony. I felt the lute strings’ ancient e…
WHEN they see my songs They will sigh and say, ‘Poor soul, wistful soul, Lonely night and day.’ They will never know
The shining line of motors, The swaying motor-bus, The prancing dancing horses Are passing by for us. The sunlight on the steeple,
OUT of the noise of tired people… Harried with thoughts of war and l… His beauty met me like a fresh win… Clean boyish beauty and high-held… Eyes that told secrets, lips that…
Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the ta… Where the window-lights, myriads a… Bloom from the walls like climbing…
Wild flight on flight against the… The flames’ red wings soar upward… This is the funeral pyre and Troy… That sparkled so the day I saw it… And darkened slowly after. I am s…
IF there is any life when death i… These tawny beaches will know much… I shall come back, as constant and… As the unchanging, many-colored se… If life was small, if it has made…
Oh, because you never tried To bow my will or break my pride, And nothing of the cave-man made You want to keep me half afraid, Nor ever with a conquering air
You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams