(1923)
#AmericanWriters
These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…