The Poet (Alexander Anderson Poems)
The poet is not for the crowd; he stands An isolation from the multitude,And breathes a breath which comes from ...
The poet is not for the crowd; he stands An isolation from the multitude,And breathes a breath which comes from ...
Above the restaurants in the eveningsThe sultry air is wild and still,And the decaying breath of springDrives drunken shouting.Above the ...
BENEATH this narrow jostling street, Unruffled by the noise of feet, Like a slow organ-note I hear The pulses ...
I saw fond lovers in that glowThat oft-times fades away too soon:I saw and said, "Their joy I know—I, too, ...
Not ours, where battle smoke upcurls,And battle dews lie wet,To meet the charge that treason hurlsBy sword and bayonet.Not ours ...
SWATHED in that frame-work quaint, contented rest Ev'n on the rail, my child, as thou art hung:Soon to thy mother's ...
Give me to die unwitting of the day, And stricken in Life's brave heat, with senses clear: Not swathed and ...
BEYOND this region of painful earth,With its mingling of gloom and gleam,With its fear and fret and its hollow mirth,Is ...
(Proverbs, viii. 22-31) "Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill'd the fountains That ...
Some are teethed on a silver spoon, With the stars strung for a rattle; I cut my teeth as the ...
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born, Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup; And primrose in its purfled green swathed up, Pallid ...
The silver trumpets rang across the Dome: The people knelt upon the ground with awe: And borne upon the necks ...
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy ...
To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught Of all the great things men have saved from Time, ...
1 O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd ...
God bless the little orchard brown Where the sap stirs these quickening days. Soon in a white and rosy gown ...
O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ...
Is it so, that the sword is broken, Our sword, that was halfway drawn? Is it so, that the light ...
Florence, rejoice! For thou o'er land and sea So spread'st thy pinions that the fame of thee Hath reached no ...
O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay ...
Old man in the crystal morning after snow, Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent Figure building the snow ...
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