#AmericanWriters
You played and sang a snatch of so… A song that all-too well we knew; But whither had flown the ancient… And was it really I and you? O, since the end of life’s to live
For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but seeing he had been…
The scientists are in terror and the European mind stops Wynham Lewis chose blindness rather than have his mind stop. Night under wind mid garofani,
Blue, blue is the grass about the… And the willows have overfilled th… And within, the mistress, in the m… White, white of face, hesitates, p… Slender, she puts forth a slender…
She passed and left no quiver in t… Moving among the trees, and clingi… in the air she severed, Fanning the grass she walked on th… Grey olive leaves beneath a rain-c…
I do not choose to dream; there co… Some strange old lust for deeds. As to the nerveless hand of some o… The sword—hilt or the war—worn won… Brings momentary life and long—fle…
If all the grief and woe and bitte… All dolour, ill and every evil cha… That ever came upon this grieving… Were set together they would seem… Against the death of the young En…
When you wake in your crib, You, an inch of experience - Vaulted about With the wonder of darkness; Wailing and striving
When the wind storms by with a sho… Rejoice in the tramp and the roar… Then, then, it comes home to the h… Is the passion that burns the bloo… Till you pity the dead down there…
‘Tis Evanoe’s, A house not made with hands, But out somewhere beyond the world… Her gold is spread, above, around,… Strange ways and walls are fashion…
“Lappo I leave behind and Dante t… Lo, I would sail the seas with th… Talk me no love talk, no bought-ch… Mine is the ship and thine the mer… All the blind earth knows not th’e…
O helpless few in my country, remn… Artists broken against her, A-stray, lost in the villages, Mistrusted, spoken-against, Lovers of beauty, starved,
My name is Nunty Cormorant And my finance is sound, I lend you Englishmen hot air At one and three the pound. I lend you Englishmen hot air
For God, our God is a gallant foe That playeth behind the veil. I have loved my God as a child at… That seeketh deep bosoms for rest, I have loved my God as a maid to…
‘Being no longer human, why shou… Pretend humanity or don the frail… Men have I known and men, but nev… Was grown so free an essence, or b… So simply element as what I am.