#AmericanWriters
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of
It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
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…