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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…
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
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...
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…
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,