#AmericanWriters
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…
With eye and with gesture You say you are holy. I say you lie; For I did see you Draw away your coats
The trees in the garden rained flo… Children ran there joyously. They gathered the flowers Each to himself. Now there were some
Tradition, thou art for suckling c… Thou art the enlivening milk for b… But no meat for men is in thee. Then— But, alas, we all are babes.
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…
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.
“I have heard the sunset song of t… A white melody in the silence, I have seen a quarrel of the pines… At nightfall The little grasses have rushed by…
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.
In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it.
Once I saw mountains angry, And ranged in battle-front. Against them stood a little man; Aye, he was no bigger than my fing… I laughed, and spoke to one near m…
A youth in apparel that glittered Went to walk in a grim forest. There he met an assassin Attired all in garb of old days; He, scowling through the thickets,
Ay, workman, make me a dream, A dream for my love. Cunningly weave sunlight, Breezes, and flowers. Let it be of the cloth of meadows.
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 me why, behind thee, I see always the shadow of another… Is it real Or is this the thrice-damned memor… Plague on him if he be dead
The chatter of a death-demon from… Blood– blood and torn grass – Had marked the rise of his agony - This lone hunter. The grey-green woods impassive