(1916)
#AmericanWriters
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
Among of green stiff old
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
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…
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for