#AmericanWriters
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square