#AmericanWriters
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…
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
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.
Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous
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…
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire