#AmericanWriters
Gone while your tastes were keen t… Gone where the grey winds call to… By that high fencer, even Death, Struck of the blade that no man pa… Such is your fence, one saith,
A poor clerk I, 'Arnaut the less’… And because I have small mind to… Day long, long day cooped on a sto… A-jumbling o’ figures for Maitre… I ha’ taken to rambling the South…
See, they return; ah, see the tent… Movements, and the slow feet, The trouble in the pace and the un… Wavering! See, they return, one by one,
O woe, woe, People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon Therefore let us act as if we were dead already.
We shall surely die: Must we needs grow old? Grow old and cold, And we know not why? O, the By-and-By,
The twisted rhombs ceased their cl… The scorched laurel lay in the fir… The moon still declined to descend… But the black ominous owl hoot was… And one raft bears our fates
Come my cantilations, Let us dump our hatreds into one b… Hot sun, clear water, fresh wind, Let me be free of pavements, Let me be free of the printers.
The pomps of butchery, financial p… Told 'em to die in war, and then t… Then cut their saving to the half… When will this system lie down in… The pomps of Fleet St., festering…
Lady of rich allure, Queen of the spring’s embrace, Your arms are long like boughs of… Mid laugh—broken streams, spirit o… Breath of the poppy flower,
Come, let us pity those who are be… Come, my friend, and remember t hat the rich have butlers… And we have friends and no butlers… Come, let us pity the married and…
As a bathtub lined with white porc… When the hot water gives out or go… So is the slow cooling of our chiv… O my much praised but—not—altogeth…
M. Pom-POM allait en guerre Per vendere cannoni Mon beau grand frère Ne peut plus voir Per vendere cannoni.
Mr. Styrax 1 Mr. Hecatomb Styrax, the owner of… A 'blue’ and a climber of mountain… He being at that age a virgin, The term Virgo’ being made male i…
This government official Whose wife is several years his se… Has such a caressing air When he shakes hands with young la… (Pompes Funèbres)
What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross What thou lov’st well shall not be… What thou lov’st well is thy true…