#Americans
THE GRAVE of Alexander Hamilt… The grave of Robert Fulton likewi… And in this yard stenogs, bundle b… An iron picket fence... and stream… ... easy is the sleep of Alexander…
One was a white gull forming a half-mile arch from the pines toward Waukegan. One was a whistle in the little sandhills, a bird crying either to the sunset gone or the dusk come. One wa...
FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late ...
SEVEN nations stood with their h… It was the first week in August,… I was listening, you were listenin… listening, And all of us heard a Voice murmu…
Singing to Paris for bread, singing to Gotham in a fizz at the pop of a bottle’s cork. “Won’t you come and play wiz me” she sang... and “I just can’t make my eyes behave.” “Higgeldy-Pig...
Lincoln? He was a mystery in smoke and flag… Saying yes to the smoke, yes to th… Yes to the paradoxes of democracy, Yes to the hopes of government
PLAY it across the table. What if we steal this city blind? If they want any thing let 'em nai… Harness bulls, dicks, front office… And the high goats up on the bench…
OUT of the testimony of such relu… Out of a rag saturated with smears… From such a rag that has wiped the… From such a rag perhaps I shall w…
GOLD of a ripe oat straw, gold o… Canada thistle blue and flimmering… Tomatoes shining in the October s… Shining five and six in a row on a… Why do you keep wishes on your fac…
DO you know how the dream looms?… Summer when the lungs of the earth… And another long breath for the si… So I shall look for you in the li… In the listening tops of the hicko…
SHINE on, O moon of summer. Shine to the leaves of grass, cata… All silver under your rain to-nigh… An Italian boy is sending songs t… A Polish boy is out with his best…
THE SHEETS of night mist trave… I know why you came at sundown in… What was it we touched asking noth… How many times can death come and… In the oath of the sod, the lips t…
BURY this old Illinois farmer wi… He slept the Illinois nights of h… Now he goes on a long sleep. The wind he listened to in the cor… The same wind will now blow over t…
I AM the mist, the impalpable mis… Back of the thing you seek. My arms are long, Long as the reach of time and spac… Some toil and toil, believing,
ON the street Slung on his shoulder is a handle… Tied in a big knot on the scoop of… Are the overalls faded from sun an… Spatter of dry clay sticking yello…
