#AmericanWriters
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which