#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Once, in the city of Kalamazoo, The gods went walking, two and two… With the friendly phoenix, the sta… The speaking pony and singing lion… For in Kalamazoo in a cottage apa…
Oh, saucy gold circle of fairyland… Impudent, intimate, delicate treas… A noose for my heart and a ring fo… Here in my study you sing me a mea… Whimsy and song in my little gray…
The moon’s a brass-hooped water-ke… A wondrous water-feast. If I could climb the ridge and dr… And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the fl…
Though I have watched so many mou… O’er the real dead, in dull earth… Those dead seemed but the shadows… That passed and left me in the sun… Now though you go on smiling in th…
I. THE DOLL UPON TH… This doll upon the topmost bough, This playmate-gift, in Christmas… Was taken down and brought to me One sleety night most comfortless.
I. THE LION The Lion is a kingly beast. He likes a Hindu for a feast. And if no Hindu he can get, The lion-family is upset.
(What the Mendicant Said ) The moon’s a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky. His strength is that of heaven-vow… Who all life’s flames defy.
We are the smirched. Queen Honor… We slept thro’ wars where Honor c… We were faint-hearted. Honor was… We kept a silence Honor could not… Yet this late day we make a song t…
Within the town of Buffalo Are prosy men with leaden eyes. Like ants they worry to and fro, (Important men, in Buffalo.) But only twenty miles away
[A Poem for Aviators] How the Wings Were Made From many morning-glories That in an hour will fade, From many pansy buds
A POEM DEDICATED T… Galahad . . . soldier that perishe… Our hearts are breaking with shame… Galahad . . . knight who perished… Teach us to fight for immaculate w…
(To Eudora, after I had had ce… When Dragon-fly would fix his win… When Snail would patch his house, When moths have marred the overcoa… Of tender Mister Mouse,
(A Poem Game.) “And when the Queen of Sheba hear… [The men’s leader rises as he sees… Men’s Leader: The Queen of Sh… [He bows three times.]
(IN THE BEGINNING) The sun is a huntress young, The sun is a red, red joy, The sun is an indian girl, Of the tribe of the Illinois.
The Moon’s the North Wind’s cook… He bites it, day by day, Until there’s but a rim of scraps That crumble all away. The South Wind is a baker.
