#AmericanWriters
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;