#AmericanWriters
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
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
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Among of green stiff old
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…