#AmericanWriters
We tightened stirrup; buckled rein… Looked to our saddle-girths again; Shook hands all round; then mounte… The gate swung wide: we said, ‘Go… No time for talk had Bell and I.
In heavens of riveted blue, that s… With glaucous flame, deep in the w… Stands Midas-like; or, wading on… Touches with splendor all the twil… Each cloud that, like a stepping-s…
Whether it be that we in letters t… The pure exactness of a wood bird’… And name it song; or with the brus… The high perfection of a wildflowe… Or mold in difficult marble all th…
When Lydia smiles, I seem to see The walls around me fade and flee; And, lo, in haunts of hart and hin… I seem with lovely Rosalind, In Arden 'neath the greenwood tre…
Who could describe you, child of m… And silence, born among these soli… Within whose look there is a secre… Old as these wanderingwoods, And knowledge, cousin to the morni…
Who hath beheld the goddess face t… Blind with her beauty, all his day… Climbing lone mountains towards he… Weighed with song’s sweet, inexora…
With eyes hand-arched he looks int… The morning’s face; then turns awa… With truant feet, all wet with dew… Out for a holiday. The hill brook sings; incessant st…
Bee-Bitten in the orchard hung The peach; or, fallen in the weeds… Lay rotting, where still sucked an… The gray bee, boring to its seed’s Pink pulp and honey blackly stung.
It’s out and away at break of day, To frolic and run in the sun-sweet… It’s up and out with a laugh and s… Let the old world know that a boy’… It’s ho for the creek that the min…
When the lily nods in slumber, And the roses all are sleeping; When the night hangs deep and umbe… And the stars their watch are keep… When the clematis uncloses
The old gate clicks, and down the… Between clove-pink and hollyhock, Still young of face though gray of… Among her garden’s flowers she goe… At evening’s close,
A SHADOW glided down the way Where sunset groped among the tree… And all the woodland bower, asway With trouble of the evening breeze… A shape, it moved with head held d…
Take Heart Take heart again. Joy may be lost… It is not always Spring. And even now from some far Summer… Hither the birds may wing.
You have shut me out from your tea… Over the man laid low and hoary. Listen to me now: I am no thief! You have shut me out from your tea… Listen to me, I will tell my stor…
From 'One Day and Another’ What little things are those That hold our happiness! A smile, a glance, a rose Dropped from her hair or dress;