#AmericanWriters
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
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.