#AmericanWriters
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
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,…
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
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,
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
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…
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—