#AmericanWriters
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
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
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
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
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Among of green stiff old
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
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…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…