(1921)
#AmericanWriters
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
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
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
At ten AM the young housewife moves about in negligee behind the wooden walls of her husband’s… I pass solitary in my car. Then again she comes to the curb
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…
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…