#AmericanWriters
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
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…
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
