#AmericanWriters #FreeVerse
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
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!
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
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