#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
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.
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
