(1923)
#AmericanWriters
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
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…
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…