#AmericanWriters
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
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…
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
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.
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…