#Americans #Modernism
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
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
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
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
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…