#AmericanWriters
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
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
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.
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
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…