#AmericanWriters
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
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 thefield by force; the grass
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
THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good