#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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.
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…