#AmericanWriters
Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in… With Mary Pickford curls in cloud… She was trying to think of somethi…
Where a river roars in rapids And doves in maples fret, Where peace has decked the pasture… Our guardian angels met. Long they had sought each other
Written to Miss Alice L. F.… Your fine white hand is Heaven’s… To cure the wide world, stricken s… Bleeding at the breast and head, Tearing at its wounds once more.
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGER… Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel r… Barrel-house kings, with feet unst… Sagged and reeled and pounded on t… A deep rolling bass.
The flower-fed buffaloes of the sp… In the days of long ago, Ranged where the locomotives sing And the prarie flowers lie low: The tossing, blooming, perfumed gr…
UNDER THE BLESSING… Though I have found you llke a sn… On sunny days have found you weak… Though I have often held your gir… Drooped on my shoulder, faint from…
Factory windows are always broken. Somebody’s always throwing bricks, Somebody’s always heaving cinders, Playing ugly Yahoo tricks. Factory windows are always broken.
Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throa… I bring you gold and silver moons, And diamond stars, and mists that… I bring you moons and snowy clouds…
Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated.
Twelve snails went walking after n… They’d creep an inch or so, Then stop and bug their eyes And blow. Some folks . . . are . . . deadly…
“Bring me soft song,” said Aladdi… “This tailor-shop sings not at all… Chant me a word of the twilight, Of roses that mourn in the fall. Bring me a song like hashish
No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget.
I asked her, “Is Aladdin’s lamp Hidden anywhere?” “Look into your heart,” she said, “Aladdin’s lamp is there.” She took my heart with glowing han…
He coveted her portrait. He toiled as she grew gay. She loved to see him labor In that devoted way. And in the end it pleased her,
The Drunkards in the street are c… Heeding not the night-wind, great… Publicans and wantons ' Calling, laughing, calling, While the Spirit bloweth Space an…