#AmericanWriters
EARLY May, after cold rain the… Irish setter pup finds a corner ne… Cuddling there he crosses forepaws… Sideways on this pillow, dozing in… Browns of hazel nut, mahogany, ros…
PASSERS-BY, Out of your many faces Flash memories to me Now at the day end Away from the sidewalks
FACES of two eternities keep loo… One is Omar Khayam and the red st… wherein men forget yesterday and t… and remember only the voices and s… the stories, newspapers and fights…
This flower is repeated out of old winds, out of old times. The wind repeats these, it must have these, over and
I AM the mist, the impalpable mis… Back of the thing you seek. My arms are long, Long as the reach of time and spac… Some toil and toil, believing,
UNDER the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker,
WALKED among the streets of an old city and the streets were lean as the throats of hard seafish soaked in salt and kept in barrels many years. How old, how old, how old, we are:—the...
THE DOWN drop of the blackbird, The wing catch of arrested flight, The stop midway and then off: off… This is April’s way: a woman: ‘O yes, I’m here again and your h…
THE child’s wonder At the old moon Comes back nightly. She points her finger To the far silent yellow thing
Tall timber stood here once, hee o… Here the roots of a half-mile of t… Then the axemen came and the chips… Dynamite, wagons, and horses took… It would come hard now for this ha…
YOUR eyes and the valley are mem… Your eyes fire and the valley a bo… It was here a moonrise crept over… It was here we turned the coffee c… And your eyes and the moon swept t…
AMONG the shadows where two stre… A woman lurks in the dark and wait… To move on when a policeman heaves… Smiling a broken smile from a face Painted over haggard bones and des…
A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads, And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red rose...
TWENTY men stand watching the m… Stabbing the sides of the ditch Where clay gleams yellow, Driving the blades of their shovel… Deeper and deeper for the new gas…
SOMEBODY’S little girl-how eas… Somebody’s little girl-she played… It was somewhere on the Erie line… And out of her hair she shook the… Somebody’s little girl-forty littl…