#AmericanWriters
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
