#AmericanWriters #Modernism
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
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.
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
