#AmericanWriters
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Among of green stiff old
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
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…
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left