#AmericanWriters
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
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…
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
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
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
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway