#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
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 thefield by force; the grass
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…