#Americans #Jews #Women
‘Oh brew me a potion strong and go… One golden drop in his wine Shall charm his sense and fire his… And bend his will to mine.’ Poor child of passion! ask of me
Last night I slept, and when I wo… Still floated on my lips. For we… Together in my dream, through some… Where the shy moonbeams scarce dar… The air was dank with dew, between…
ORPHEUS. LAUGHTER and dance, and sounds… Piping of flutes, singing of festa… Ribbons of flame from flaunting to… By the broad summer sunshine, thes…
Not like the brazen giant of Gree… With conquering limbs astride from… Here at our sea-washed, sunset gat… A mighty woman with a torch, whose… Is the imprisoned lightning, and h…
Prelude Blue storm-clouds in hot heavens o… Hung heavy, brooding over land and… Our hearts, a-tremble, throbbed in… With the wild, restless tone of ai…
I saw in dream the spirits unbegot… Veiled, floating phantoms, lost in… For one the hour had struck, he pa… Rang with an awful Voice: ‘Soul, choose thy lot!
Down the goldenest of streams, Tide of dreams, The fair cradled man-child drifts; Sways with cadenced motion slow, To and fro,
As one who feels the breathless ni… His heart-strings, and through vis… Now on a thin-ledged chasm’s rock-… Now on a tottering pinnacle that d… The front of heaven, while always…
By the impulse of my will, By the red flame in my blood, By me nerves’ electric thrill, By the passion of my mood, My concentrated desire,
(The Garden of Life in Spenser’s… IT is no fabled garden in the ski… But bloometh here—this is no world… And nothing that once liveth, ever… And naught that breathes can ever…
WEAK, slender blades of tender g… With little fragrance, little shee… What maketh ye so dear to all? Nor bud, nor flower, nor fruit hav… So tiny, it can only be
(A Dream.) Not a stain, In the sun—brimmed sapphire cup th… Not a ripple on the black transluc… Of the palace-walled lagoon.
A DREAM of lilies: all the bloo… A garden full of fairies and of fl… Its only music the glad cry of mir… While the warm sun weaves golden-t… Hope a bright angel, beautiful and…
Rosh-Hashanah, 5643 Not while the snow-shroud round de… And naked branches point to frozen… When orchards burn their lamps of… The grape glows like a jewel, and…
Ten o’clock: the broken moon Hangs not yet a half hour high, Yellow as a shield of brass, In the dewy air of June, Poised between the vaulted sky