(1916)
#AmericanWriters
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
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
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!