(1916)
#AmericanWriters
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
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…
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
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…
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees