(1916)
#AmericanWriters #Modernism
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
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.
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
