#AmericanWriters
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...