#AmericanWriters
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…
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
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 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
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…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
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...
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
Among of green stiff old
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
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.
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...