#AmericanWriters
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
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...
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color