#AmericanWriters
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
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…
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
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.
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left