#AmericanWriters
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...
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
a burst of iris so that come down for breakfast we searched through the rooms for
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail