#AmericanWriters
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
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…
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—