#Americans Modern
As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth The big-finned palm And green vine angering for life, As the immense dew of Florida
Poetry is the supreme fiction, mad… Take the moral law and make a nave… And from the nave build haunted he… The conscience is converted into p… Like windy citherns hankering for…
The time of year has grown indiffe… Mildew of summer and the deepening… Are both alike in the routine I k… I am too dumbly in my being pent. The wind attendant on the solstice…
Go on, high ship, since now, upon… The snake has left its skin upon t… Key West sank downward under mass… And silvers and greens spread over… Is at the mast-head and the past i…
What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.
The house was quiet and the world… The reader became the book; and su… Was like the conscious being of th… The house was quiet and the world… The words were spoken as if there…
There were ghosts that returned to… As he sat there reading, aloud, th… They were those from the wildernes… There were those that returned to… Of the pans above the stove, the p…
Ariel was glad he had written his… They were of a remembered time Or of something seen that he liked… Other makings of the sun Were waste and welter
One chemical afternoon in mid-autu… When the grand mechanics of earth… Even the leaves of the locust were… He walked with his year-old boy on… The sun shone and the dog barked a…
Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, Nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else. II
Granted, we die for good. Life, then, is largely a thing Of happens to like, not should. And that, too, granted, why Do I happen to like red bush,
Day creeps down. The moon is cree… The sun is a corbeil of flowers th… Places there, a bouquet. Ho-ho…Th… Of images. Days pass like papers… The bouquets come here in the pape…
There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a… He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in t… It reminded him how he had needed
What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in drea… Shall she not find in comforts of… In pungent fruit and bright, green… In any balm or beauty of the earth…