#AmericanWriters
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
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.
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
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,
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...
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
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.
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
