#AmericanWriters
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,
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
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.
A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
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
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 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
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The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge