#AmericanWriters
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
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...
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
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing