#AmericanWriters
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
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.
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on