(1916)
#AmericanWriters
A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
Among of green stiff old
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
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 thefield by force; the grass
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…