#AmericanWriters
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a w...
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
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…