(1923)
#AmericanWriters
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
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…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
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...
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…