(1923)
#AmericanWriters
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
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,
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue