#Americans Modern
First Girl When this yokel comes maundering, Whetting his hacker, I shall run before him, Diffusing the civilest odors
The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings,
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…
Poetry is the supreme fiction, mad… Take the moral law and make a nave… And from the nave build haunted he… The conscience is converted into p… Like windy citherns hankering for…
Day creeps down. The moon is cree… The sun is a corbeil of flowers th… Places there, a bouquet. Ho-ho…Th… Of images. Days pass like papers… The bouquets come here in the pape…
You dweller in the dark cabin, To whom the watermelon is always p… Whose garden is wind and moon, Of the two dreams, night and day, What lover, what dreamer, would ch…
It was the morn And the palms were waved And the brass was played Then the coroner came In his limpid shoes.
Although you sit in a room that is… Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown;
Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are twenty men crossing twenty bri… Into twenty villages, Or one man
There’s a little square in Paris, Waiting until we pass. They sit idly there, They sip the glass. There’s a cab-horse at the corner,
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds… Let the wenches dawdle in such dre… As they are used to wear, and let…
The lilacs wither in the Carolina… Already the butterflies flutter ab… Already the new-born children inte… In the voices of mothers. Timeless mothers,
What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.
Granted, we die for good. Life, then, is largely a thing Of happens to like, not should. And that, too, granted, why Do I happen to like red bush,