#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…
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…
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
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
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for