(1923)
#AmericanWriters
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am