#AmericanWriters
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
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…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Among of green stiff old
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…
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…
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
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…
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of