(1916)
#AmericanWriters
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
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…
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
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…
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last