#Americans #Women
An English lad, who, reading in a… A ponderous, leathern thing set on… Saw the broad violet of the Egean… Lap at his feet as it were village… Wide was the east; the gusts of mo…
Along the pastoral ways I go, To get the healing of the trees, The ghostly news the hedges know; To hive me honey like the bees, Against the time of snow.
Snatch the departing mood; Make yours its emptying reed, and… Faith in the time, faith in our co… Faith in the least of good: Song cannot fail if these its spir…
When I consider Life and its few… A wisp of fog betwixt us and the s… A call to battle, and the battle d… Ere the last echo dies within our… A rose choked in the grass; an hou…
An apple orchard smells like wine; A succory flower is blue; Until Grief touched these eyes of… Such things I never knew. And now indeed I know so plain
Wild rockets blew along the lane; The tall white gentians too were t… The mullein stalks were brave agai… Of blossoms was the bramble bare; And toward the pasture bars below
A rhyme of good Death’s inn! My love came to that door; And she had need of many things, The way had been so sore. My love she lifted up her head,
Oh, gray and tender is the rain, That drips, drips on the pane! A hundred things come in the door, The scent of herbs, the thought of… I see the pool out in the grass,
To the sweet memory of Sidney Lan… The old house stands deserted, gra… With sharpened gables high in air, And deep-set lattices, all gay With massive arch and framework ra…
Dark, thinned, beside the wall of… The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blow… Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent,
I am too near, too clear a thing f… A flower of mullein in a crack of… The villagers half see, or not at… Part of the weather, like the wind… You love to pluck the different, a…
The little Jesus came to town; The wind blew up, the wind blew do… Out in the street the wind was bol… Now who would house Him from the… Then opened wide a stable door,
Fathered by March, the daffodils… First, all the air grew keen with… And once a thrush from out some ho… On a field’s edge, where whitening… Fluted the last unto the budding y…
It is too early for white boughs,… For snows. From out the hedge the… A few last flakes, ragged and deli… Down the stripped roads the maples… Soft, ’wildering fires. Stained a…
Keep back the one word more, Nor give of your whole store; For, it may be, in Art’s sole hou… Lacking that word, you shall be po…