(1923)
#AmericanWriters
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
I gotta buy me a new girdle. (I’ll buy you one) O.K.
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
I’ve fond anticipation of a day O’erfilled with pure diversion pre… For I must read a lady poesy The while we glide by many a leafy… Hid deep in rushes, where at rando…
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
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…
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which