#1916 #AmericanWriters #MountainInterval
Sea waves are green and wet, But up from where they die, Rise others vaster yet, And those are brown and dry. They are the sea made land
To Time it never seems that he is… To set himself against the peaks o… To lay them level with the running… Nor is he overjoyed when they lie… But only grave, contemplative and…
The rain to the wind said, ‘You push and I’ll pelt.’ They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged– though not dead.
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can’t we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself...
We make ourselves a place apart Behind light words that tease and… But oh, the agitated heart Till someone find us really out. ’Tis pity if the case require
Four or five whippoorwills Have come down from their native l… To the open country edge To give us a piece of their bills. Two in June were a pair—
Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice,
The sentencing goes blithely on it… And takes the playfully objected r… As surely as it takes the stroke a… In having its undeviable say.
It is as true as Caesar’s name wa… That no economist was ever wiser (Though prodigal himself and a des… Of capital and calling thrift a mi… And when we get too far apart in w…
The white-tailed hornet lives in a… That floats against the ceiling of… The exit he comes out at like a bu… Is like the pupil of a pointed gun… And having power to change his aim…
The great Overdog That heavenly beast With a star in one eye Gives a leap in the east. He dances upright
The fisherman’s swapping a yarn fo… Under the hand of the village barb… And her in the angle of house and… His deep-sea dory has found a harb… At anchor she rides the sunny sod
An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such.
Dust always blowing about the town… Except when sea—fog laid it down, And I was one of the children tol… Some of the blowing dust was gold. All the dust the wind blew high
I love to toy with the Platonic n… That wisdom need not be of Athens… But well may be Laconic, even Boe… At least I will not have it syste…