#AmericanWriters
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
In the loam we sleep, In the cool moist loam, To the lull of years that pass And the break of stars, From the loam, then,
THE LAWYERS, Bob, know too mu… They are chums of the books of old… They know it all, what a dead hand… A stiff dead hand and its knuckles… The bones of the fingers a thin wh…
STUFF of the moon Runs on the lapping sand Out to the longest shadows. Under the curving willows, And round the creep of the wave li…
FELIKSOWA has gone again from… She and her husband took with them… She went like a swine, because she… That is where she ought to live, w… She was something of an ape before…
OUT of the fire Came a man sunken To less than cinders, A tea-cup of ashes or so. And I,
A MAN was crucified. He came to… was accused, and nailed to a cross… Laughed at the crowd. “The nails… said, “You are cheap. In my count… we use silver nails. . .” So he we…
THROW roses on the sea where the… The roses speak to the sea, And the sea to the dead. Throw roses, O lovers– Let the leaves wash on the salt in…
LET us sit by a hissing steam rad… And let us talk about milk wagon d… Let us keep our feet in wool slipp… Let us write of olden, golden days… A roustabout hunched on a coal wag…
STRONG rocks hold up the riksdag bridge... always strong river waters shoving their shoulders against them... In the riksdag to-night three hundred men are talking to each other about m...
THIS Mohammedan colonel from the Caucasus yells with his voice and wigwags with his arms. The interpreter translates, ‘I was a friend of Kornilov, he asks me what to do and I tell him.’...
PEA pods cling to stems. Neponset, the village, Clings to the Burlington railway… Terrible midnight limiteds roar th… Hauling sleepers to the Rockies a…
You have spoken the answer. A child searches far sometimes Into the red dust On a dark rose leaf And so you have gone far
THE monotone of the rain is beaut… And the sudden rise and slow relap… Of the long multitudinous rain. The sun on the hills is beautiful, Or a captured sunset sea-flung,
WHITE MOON comes in on a baby… The shafts across her bed are flim… Out on the land White Moon shines… Shines and glimmers against gnarle… All silver to slow twisted shadows