#AmericanWriters
Swift, through some trap mine eyes… Dim-panelled in the painted scene… Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams,… Upon my spirit’s stage. Then Sig… Then Space and Time, then Langua…
At midnight, death’s and truth’s u… When far within the spirit’s heari… The great soft rumble of the cours… A bulk of silence in a mask of sou… When darkness clears our vision th…
Hey, rose, just born Twin to a thorn; Was’t so with you, O Love and Sc… Sweet eyes that smiled, Now wet and wild:
The innocent, sweet Day is dead. Dark Night hath slain her in her… O, Moors are as fierce to kill as… —Put out the light, said he. A sweeter light than ever rayed
From cold Norse caves or buccanee… Oft come repenting tempests here t… Bewailing old-time wrecks and robb… They shrive to priestly pines with… Breathe salutary balms through lan…
[Not long ago a certain Georgia c… by awaking each morning to find th… quite outgrown the cotton overnigh… in defiance of his lazy freedmen’s… set the whole State in a laugh by…
Through seas of dreams and seas of… Through seas of solitudes and vaca… And through my Self, the deepest… I strive to thee, Nirvana. Oh long ago the billow-flow of sen…
O marriage-bells, your clamor tell… Two weddings in one breath. SHE marries whom her love compels… —And I wed Goodman Death! My brain is blank, my tears are re…
Through all that year-scarred agon… Unblest of bough or bloom, to wher… His wandy circlet with his bladed… Dividing every wind, or loud or li… To termless hymns of love and old…
Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together aga…
Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chi… Complain no more; for these, O he… Direct the random of the will As rhymes direct the rage of art. The lute’s fixt fret, that runs at…
My soul is like the oar that momen… Dies in a desperate stress beneath… Then glitters out again and sweeps… Each second I’m new-born from som…
I knowed a man, which he lived in… Which Jones is a county of red hi… And he lived pretty much by gittin… And his mules was nuthin’ but skin… And his hogs was flat as his corn-…
It was three slim does and a ten-t… And all of a sudden the sinister s… Awaft on a wind-shift, wavered and… Down the hill-side and sifted alon… Then Nan got a-tremble at nostril…
‘Spring-germs, spring-germs, I charge you by your life, go back… This glebe is sick, this wind is f… Stay: feed the worms. ’Oh! every clod