#AmericanWriters
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!