(1916)
#AmericanWriters
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
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.
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees