#AmericanWriters
Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were on… As quick as foxes on the hill; And that in autumn, when the grape… Made sharp air sharper by their sm…
The old brown hen and the old blue… Between the two we live and die— The broken cartwheel on the hill. As if, in the presence of the sea, We dried our nets and mended sail
At the earliest ending of winter, In March, a scrawny cry from outs… Seemed like a sound in his mind. He knew that he heard it, A bird’s cry at daylight or before…
On the threshold of heaven, the fi… Become the figures of heaven, the… Of men growing small in the distan… Singing, with smaller and still sm… Unintelligible absolution and an e…
One’s grand flights, one’s Sunday… One’s tootings at the weddings of… Occur as they occur. So bluish cl… Occurred above the empty house and… Of the rhododendrons rattled their…
The poem must resist the intellige… Almost successfully. Illustration… A brune figure in winter evening r… Identity. The thing he carries re… The most necessitous sense. Accep…
Barque of phosphor On the palmy beach, Move outward into heaven, Into the alabasters And night blues.
“Mother of heaven, regina of the c… O sceptre of the sun, crown of the… There is not nothing, no, no, neve… Like the clashed edges of two word… And so I mocked her in magnificen…
And for what, except for you, do… Do I press the extremest book of… Close to me, hidden in me day and… In the uncertain light of single,… Equal in living changingness to th…
After the leaves have fallen, we r… To a plain sense of things. It is… We had come to an end of the imagi… Inanimate in an inert savoir. It is difficult even to choose the…
Among the more irritating minor id… Of Mr. Homburg during his visits… To Concord, at the edge of things… To think away the grass, the trees… Not to transform them into other t…
The lilacs wither in the Carolina… Already the butterflies flutter ab… Already the new-born children inte… In the voices of mothers. Timeless mothers,
It is grass. It is monotonous. The monotony Is like your port which conceals All your characters
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with sno… And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged wit…
Complacencies of the peignoir, and… Coffee and oranges in a sunny chai… And the green freedom of a cockato… Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice…