#AmericanWriters
Why do you strive for greatness, f… Go pluck a bough and wear it. It is as sufficing. My Lord, there are certain barbar… Who tilt their noses
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,
The sage lectured brilliantly. Before him, two images: “Now this one is a devil, And this one is me.” He turned away.
In a lonely place, I encountered a sage Who sat, all still, Regarding a newspaper. He accosted me:
To the maiden The sea was blue meadow, Alive with little froth-people Singing. To the sailor, wrecked,
I stood upon a high place, And saw, below, many devils Running, leaping, and carousing in sin. One looked up, grinning,
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…
Supposing that I should have the… To let a red sword of virtue Plunge into my heart, Letting to the weeds of the ground My sinful blood,
I looked here; I looked there; Nowhere could I see my love. And—this time— She was in my heart.
THOU art my love And thou art the peace of sundown When the blue shadows soothe And the grasses and the leaves sle… To the song of the little brooks
There was crimson clash of war. Lands turned black and bare; Women wept; Babes ran, wondering. There came one who understood not…
I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said,
Many red devils ran from my heart And out upon the page, They were so tiny The pen could mash them. And many struggled in the ink.
God fashioned the ship of the worl… With the infinite skill of an All… Made He the hull and the sails, Held He the rudder Ready for adjustment.
The impact of a dollar upon the he… Smiles warm red light, Sweeping from the hearth rosily up… With the hanging cool velvet shado… Moving softly upon the door.