#AmericanWriters
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
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
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,