#AmericanWriters
(To Eleonora Duse) We are anhungered after solitude, Deep stillness pure of any speech… Soft quiet hovering over pools pro… The silences that on the desert br…
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,
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…
After a year I came again to the… The tireless lights and the reverb… The angry thunder of trains that b… The hunted, hurrying people were s… But oh, another man beside me and…
I would live in your love as the s… Borne up by each wave as it passes… I would empty my soul of the dream… I would beat with your heart as it…
My heart is but a little house With room for only three or four, And it was filled before you knock… Upon the door. I longed to bid you come within,
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…
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…
Across the dimly lighted room The violin drew wefts of sound, Airily they wove and wound And glimmered gold against the glo… I watched the music turn to light,
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,
They came to tell your faults to m… They named them over one by one; I laughed aloud when they were don… I knew them all so well before, - Oh, they were blind, too blind to…
I built a little House of Dreams, And fenced it all about, But still I heard the Wind of Tr… That roared without. I laid a fire of Memories
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…
Now while my lips are living Their words must stay unsaid, And will my soul remember To speak when I am dead? Yet if my soul remembered
Send out the singers—let the room… They have not eased my pain nor br… Close out the sun, for I would ha… That I may feel how black the gra… The sun is setting, for the light…