(1923)
#AmericanWriters
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…