#AmericanWriters
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
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…
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter
NOW that I have cooled to you Let there be gold of tarnished mas… Temples soothed by the sun to ruin That sleep utterly. Give me hand for the dances,
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky