Cornhuskers. 1918.
#AmericanWriters
THE PAWN-SHOP man knows hunge… And how far hunger has eaten the h… Of one who comes with an old keeps… Here are wedding rings and baby br… Scarf pins and shoe buckles, jewel…
AMONG the shadows where two stre… A woman lurks in the dark and wait… To move on when a policeman heaves… Smiling a broken smile from a face Painted over haggard bones and des…
I KNOW a Jew fish crier down on… voice like a north wind blowing ov… in January. He dangles herring before prospect… a joy identical with that of Pavlo…
Hot gold runs a winding stream on… Yellow trickles in a fan figure, s… of dancing girls, performs blazing… one stream, forgets the past and r… The sea-mist green of the bowl’s b…
THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neit… The sins of Kalamazoo are a convi… And the people who sin the sins of… They run to drabs and grays-and so… Yes, Kalamazoo is a spot on the m…
I WAS born on the prairie and th… slogan. Here the water went down, the iceb… yellow sandy loam. Here between the sheds of the Roc…
AFTER you have spent all the money modistes and manicures and mannikins will take for fixing you over into a thing the people on the streets call proud and beautiful, After the shops an...
Though I can whisper to you I am looking for an undertaker humming a lullaby and throwing his feet in a swift and mystic buck-and-wing, now you see it and now you don’t. Fish to swim a ...
THEY offer you many things, I a few. Moonlight on the play of fountains… With water sparkling a drowsy mono… Bare-shouldered, smiling women and…
LET us sit by a hissing steam rad… And let us talk about milk wagon d… Let us keep our feet in wool slipp… Let us write of olden, golden days… A roustabout hunched on a coal wag…
I CANNOT tell you now; When the wind’s drive and whirl Blow me along no longer, And the wind’s a whisper at last— Maybe I’ll tell you then—
HOW much do you love me, a millio… Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a l… And to-morrow maybe only half a bu… To-morrow maybe not even a half a… And is this your heart arithmetic?
I shall be eaten by gray creepers in a bunkhouse where no runners of the sun come and no dogs live. And yet-of all 'and yets’ this is the bronze strongest– I shall keep one thing better...
ELSIE FLIMMERWON, you got a… The houses go wild when you finish… It is long ago, Elsie Flimmerwon,… It is long ago, Elsie, and now th… Then you were a little thing in ch…
THE working girls in the morning… long lines of them afoot amid the… and factories, thousands with litt… lunches wrapped in newspapers unde… Each morning as I move through th…