#AmericanWriters
Charity thou art a lie, A toy of women, A pleasure of certain men. In the presence of justice, Lo, the walls of the temple
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 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,
Your cross? The real cross Is made of pounds, Dollars or francs. Here I bear my palms for the sill…
I stood upon a highway, And, behold, there came Many strange peddlers. To me each one made gestures, Holding forth little images, sayin…
There was a man who lived a life o… Even upon the fabric of time, Where purple becomes orange And orange purple, This life glowed,
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,
You tell me this is God? I tell you this is a printed list, A burning candle, and an ass.
Should the wide world roll away Leaving black terror Limitless night, Nor God, nor man, nor place to st… Would be to me essential
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.
Each small gleam was a voice, A lantern voice— In little songs of carmine, violet… A chorus of colours came over the… The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer…
I walked in a desert. And I cried, “Ah, God, take me from this place… A voice said, “It is no desert.” I cried, “Well, But—
LITTLE birds of the night Aye, they have much to tell Perching there in rows Blinking at me with their serious… Recounting of flowers they have se…
To the maiden The sea was blue meadow, Alive with little froth-people Singing. To the sailor, wrecked,