(1916)
#AmericanWriters
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
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
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…
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
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
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich