#AmericanWriters
Pile the bodies high at Austerlit… Shovel them under and let me work— I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg And pile them high at Ypres and V…
Six streets come together here. They feed people and wagons into t… In and out all day horses with tho… Men with shovels, women with baske… Six ends of streets and no sleep f…
THIS handful of grass, brown, says little. This quarter mile field of it, waving seeds ripening in the sun, is a lake of luminous firefly lavender. Prairie roses, two of them, climb dow...
YOUR whitelight flashes the fros… Moon of the purple and silent west… Remember me one of your lovers of…
I SHALL never forget you, Broad… Your golden and calling lights. I’ll remember you long, Tall-walled river of rush and play… Hearts that know you hate you
SUNDAY night and the park polic… is dark as a stack of black cats o… A big picnic boat comes home to C… farms of Saugatuck. Hundreds of electric bulbs break t…
SLING me under the sea. Pack me down in the salt and wet. No farmer’s plow shall touch my bo… No Hamlet hold my jaws and speak How jokes are gone and empty is my…
THERE was a wild pigeon came oft… Gray wings that wrote their loops… There was a wild pigeon. There was a summer came year by ye… Rainy months and sunny and pigeons…
The sea-wash never ends. The sea-wash repeats, repeats. Only old songs? Is that all the s… Only the old strong songs? Is that all?
THE MILK drops on your chin, H… Must not interfere with the cranbe… Nor the sky winter blue of your ey… Let your mammy keep hands off the… This is a high holy spatter of whi…
MEMORY of you is . . . a blue s… I cannot remember the name of it. Alongside a bold dripping poppy is… And they cover you.
STROLLING along By the teeming docks, I watch the ships put out. Black ships that heave and lunge And move like mastodons
LET me be monosyllabic to-day, O… Yesterday I loosed a snarl of wor… on a child. To-day, let me be monosyllabic … a… who wash sunlight in their fingers…
OUT of white lips a question: Sh… Out of white lips:—Shall they hav… Out of white lips:—Is the red in… Out of white lips a white pain mur…
telling where the wind comes from open a story. Pencils telling where the wind goes end a story.