(1916)
#AmericanWriters
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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