#Americans
A MAN builded a bugle for the st… The focused winds hurled him afar. He said that the instrument was a… II When the suicide arrived at the sk…
UNWIND my riddle. Cruel as hawks the hours fly; Wounded men seldom come home to di… The hard waves see an arm flung hi… Scorn hits strong because of a lie…
Behold, the grave of a wicked man, And near it, a stern spirit. There came a drooping maid with vi… But the spirit grasped her arm. ‘No flowers for him,’ he said.
“Tell brave deeds of war.” Then they recounted tales,— “There were stern stands And bitter runs for glory.” Ah, I think there were braver dee…
A newspaper is a collection of hal… Which, bawled by boys from mile to… Spreads its curious opinion To a million merciful and sneering… While families cuddle the joys of…
There came whisperings in the wind… “Good-bye! Good-bye!” Little voices called in the darkne… “Good-bye! Good-bye!” Then I stretched forth my arms.
There was a man with tongue of woo… Who essayed to sing, And in truth it was lamentable. But there was one who heard The clip-clapper of this tongue of…
I HEARD thee laugh, And in this merriment I defined the measure of my pain; I knew that I was alone, Alone with love,
Behold, the grave of a wicked man, And near it, a stern spirit. There came a drooping maid with vi… But the spirit grasped her arm. “No flowers for him,” he said.
There were many who went in huddle… They knew not whither; But, at any rate, success or calam… Would attend all in equality. There was one who sought a new roa…
A slant of sun on dull brown walls… A forgotten sky of bashful blue. Toward God a mighty hymn, A song of collisions and cries, Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells…
Black riders came from the sea. There was clang and clang of spear… And clash and clash of hoof and he… Wild shouts and the wave of hair In the rush upon the wind:
“It was wrong to do this,” said th… “You should live like a flower, Holding malice like a puppy, Waging war like a lambkin.” “Not so,” quoth the man
Once, I knew a fine song, —It is true, believe me— It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket,
On the horizon the peaks assembled… And as I looked, The march of the mountains began. As they marched, they sang, “Aye! We come! We come!”
