#AmericanWriters
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
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.
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
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...
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…