#AmericanWriters
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor
A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.
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
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…
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
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...
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices