Cornhuskers. 1918.
#AmericanWriters
Here is dust remembers it was a ro… one time and lay in a woman’s hair… Here is dust remembers it was a wo… one time and in her hair lay a ros… Oh things one time dust, what else…
ALL day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating… Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and l… Curls of brown were slipping under…
COUNT these reminiscences like m… The Greeks had their picnics unde… The Romans wore glad rags and tol… The Carlovingians hauling logs on… Stuck their noses in the air and s…
MEMORY of you is . . . a blue s… I cannot remember the name of it. Alongside a bold dripping poppy is… And they cover you.
Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish...
BOTH were jailbirds; no speechma… And both were lights snuffed out..… Who knew the hearts of these booze…
BLOSSOMS of babies Blinking their stories Come soft On the dusk and the babble; Little red gamblers,
AMONG the red guns, In the hearts of soldiers Running free blood In the long, long campaign: Dreams go on.
HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a murder or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes. A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broo...
Now the stone house on the lake fr… workmen are beginning the fence. The palings are made of iron bars… can stab the life out of any man w… As a fence, it is a masterpiece, a…
Many things I might have said tod… And I kept my mouth shut. So many times I was asked To come and say the same things Everybody was saying, no end
PIETRO has twenty red and blue… They flutter and dance pulling Pi… A nickel apiece is what they sell… Wishing children tag Pietro’s hee… He sells out and goes the streets…
It’s a jazz affair, drum crashes a… The trombone pony neighs and the t… The banjo tickles and titters too… The chippies talk about the funnie… The cartoonists weep in their beer…
(We can succeed only by concert. . . . The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion....
TAKE a hold now On the silver handles here, Six silver handles, One for each of his old pals. Take hold