(1923)
#AmericanWriters
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr…
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
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
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees