#AmericanWriters
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves
Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
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 sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn
Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway