#Americans #Modernism #XXCentury
When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
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…
This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
