#Americans #Modernism
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
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 burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
