#AmericanWriters
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…
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.