#AmericanWriters
It is, and is not, I am sane enou… Since you have come this place has… This fabrication built of autumn r… Then there’s a goldish colour, dif… And one gropes in these things as…
FROM THE PROVENCAL O… Lady, since you care nothing for m… And since you have shut me away fr… Causelessly, I know not wnere to go seeking,
Winter is icummen in, Lhude sing Goddamm. Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm.
When I but think upon the great d… And turn my mind upon that splendi… Lo! I do curse my strength And blame the sun his gladness; For that the one is dead
BE in me as the eternal moods of the bleak wind, and not As transient things are— gaiety of flowers. Have me in the strong loneliness
O thou newcomer who seek’st Rom… And find’st in Rome no thing th… Arches worn old and palaces made c… Rome’s name alone within these w… Behold how pride and ruin can befa…
For a moment she rested against me Like a swallow half blown to the w… And they talk of Swinburne’s wome… And the shepherdess meeting with… And the harlots of Baudelaire.
The good Bellaires Do not understand the conduct of t… In fact they understood them so ba… That they have had to cross the C… Nine lawyers, four counsels, five…
I even I, am he who knoweth the r… Through the sky, and the wind ther… I have beheld the Lady of Life, I, even I, who fly with the swall… Green and gray is her raiment,
The scientists are in terror and the European mind stops Wynham Lewis chose blindness rather than have his mind stop. Night under wind mid garofani,
I have tried to write Paradise Do not move Let the wind speak that is paradise. Let the Gods forgive what I
We are the Choice of the Will: G… That called us into line, set in o… Set us a sword to wield none else… And bade us forth to the sound of… East and west and north, wherever…
DOLE THE BELL! BELL THE… Whom can these duds attack? Soapy Sime? Slipp’ry Mac? Naught but a shirt is there Such as the fascists wear,
Go, my songs, seek your praise fro… and from the intolerant, Move among the lovers of perfectio… Seek ever to stand in the hard So… And take you wounds from it gladly…
O Fan of white silk, clear as frost on the grass—blade, You also are laid aside.