#AmericanWriters
Black lake, black boat, two black,… Where do the black trees go that d… Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from t… Their leaves do not wish us to hur…
Or, cette jeune fille pointilleuse Lors d’une cérémonieuse promenade… Avec son dernier soupirant Fut soudain frappée, intolérableme… Par le brouhaha irrégulier des ois…
The groundhog on the mountain did… But fatly scuttled into the splaye… And faced me, back to a ledge of d… Her sallow rodent teeth like casta… Against my leaning down, would not…
Hearing a white saint rave About a quintessential beauty Visible only to the paragon heart, I tried my sight on an apple-tree That for eccentric knob and wart
(I) This is the sea, then, this great… How the sun’s poultice draws on my… Electrifyingly—colored sherbets, s… By pale girls, travel the air in s…
Tell me what you see in it: The pine tree like a Rorschach—bl… black against the orange light: Plant an orange pumpkin patch which at twelve will quaintly hatc…
Outside in the street I hear A car door slam; voices coming nea… Incoherent scraps of talk And high heels clicking up the wal… The doorbell rends the noonday hea…
An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale blue vitreous stuff, opaqu… As resin drops oozed from pine bar…
Blameless as daylight I stood loo… At a field of horses, necks bent,… Tails streaming against the green Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was st… White chapel pinnacles over the ro…
deep in liquid turquoise slivers of dilute light quiver in thin streaks of bright tinfoil
The nose—end that twitches, the ol… Tolerable now as moles on the face Put up with until chagrin gives pl… To a wry complaisance—— Dug in first as God’s spurs
It is a chilly god, a god of shade… Rises to the glass from his black… At the window, those unborn, those… Assemble with the frail paleness o… An envious phosphorescence in thei…
Who are these people at the bridge… The rector, the midwife, the sexto… In my sleeveless summery dress I… And they are all gloved and covere… They are smiling and taking out ve…
'Tea leaves I’ve given up, And that crooked line On the queen’s palm Is no more my concern. On my black pilgrimage
We came over the moor—top Through air streaming and green—li… Stone farms foundering in it, Valleys of grass altering In a light neither dawn