#AmericanWriters
There once was a man whom the gods… And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, and his… And he cursed eternally. He damned the sun, and he damned t…
Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside, The Cyclists.
He perches in the slime, inert, Bedaubed with iridescent dirt. The oil upon the puddles dries To colours like a peacock’s eyes, And half-submerged tomato-cans
My heart is tuned to sorrow, and t… Vibrate most readily to minor chor… Searching and sad; my mind is stuf… Which voice the passion and the ac… Illusions beating with their baffl…
Over the housetops, Above the rotating chimney-pots, I have seen a shiver of amethyst, And blue and cinnamon have flicker… A moment,
Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shu… A storm was rising, heavy gusts of… Swirled through the trees, and sca… Her on the clean, flagged path. T… The distant town was black, and sh…
Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits o… Ticked off upon a clock which neve… Shredding our portion of Eternity… We break away at last, and steal t…
A flickering glimmer through a win… A dim red glare through mud bespat… Cleaving a path between blown wall… Across uneven pavements sunk in sl… To scatter and then quench itself…
Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass, the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceili...
Guarded within the old red wall’s… Marshalled like soldiers in gay co… The tulips stand arrayed. Here in… Wheels out into the sunlight. Wha… Sets off their tunics, white with…
High up above the open, welcoming… It hangs, a piece of wood with col… Once, long ago, it was a waving tr… And knew the sun and shadow throug… Of forest trees, in a thick easter…
The Poet took his walking-stick Of fine and polished ebony. Set in the close-grained wood Were quaint devices; Patterns in ambers,
Alone, I whet my soul against the… Unwrinkled sky, with its long stre… I polish it with sunlight and pale… And damascene it with young blowin… Into the handle of my life I set
All night I wrestled with a memor… Which knocked insurgent at the gat… The crumbled wreck of years behind… Its disillusion; now I only cry For peace, for power to forget the…
Cloud-topped and splendid, dominat… The little lesser hills which comp… Thou standest, bright with April’… Yet holding Winter in some shaded… Of stern, steep rock; and startled…