#Activities #AmericanWriters #MoneyAndEconomics #SocialCommentaries
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees