Cornhuskers. 1918.
#Americans
EMILY DICKINSON: You gave us the bumble bee who has… The everlasting traveler among the… And how God plays around a back y… STEVIE CRANE:
DREAMS in the dusk, Only dreams closing the day And with the day’s close going bac… To the gray things, the dark thing… The far, deep things of dreamland.
IN the old wars drum of hoofs and… In the new wars hum of motors and… In the wars to come silent wheels… yet dreamed out in the heads of me… In the old wars clutches of short…
IT is something to face the sun and know you are free. To hold your head in the shafts of daylight slanting the earth And know your heart has kept a promise and the blood runs clean: To...
I AM a copper wire slung in the a… Slim against the sun I make not e… Night and day I keep singing—humm… It is love and war and money; it i… tears, the work and want,
I TELL them where the wind comes… Where the music goes when the fidd… Kids-I saw one with a proud chin,… And the moonline creeping white on… I have seen their heads in the sta…
IN the morning, a Sunday morning, shadows of sea and adumbrants of rock in her eyes... horseback in leather boots and leather gauntlets by the sea. In the evening, a Sunday evening, a r...
YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock w… Those grappling hooks, those wheel… The dome and the wings of you, ***… The red roof and the door of you, I know where your songs came from.
WHAT can we say of the night? The fog night, the moon night, the… There swept out of the sea a song. There swept out of the sea-torn wh… There came on the coast wind drive
There will be a rusty gun on the w… The rifle grooves curling with fla… A spider will make a silver string… darkest, warmest corner of it. The trigger and the range-finder,…
Baby vamps, is it harder work than… Are the new soda parlors worse tha… Baby vamps, do you have jobs in th… In the winter at the skating rinks… Wherever figure eights are carved,…
THE working girls in the morning… long lines of them afoot amid the… and factories, thousands with litt… lunches wrapped in newspapers unde… Each morning as I move through th…
TAKE a hold now On the silver handles here, Six silver handles, One for each of his old pals. Take hold
THIN sheets of blue smoke among white slabs … near the shingle mill … winter morning. Falling of a dry leaf might be heard … circular steel tears through a log. Slope of woodland … ...
MY people are gray, pigeon gray, dawn gray, storm gray… I call them beautiful, and I wonder where they are going.