#AmericanWriters
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
I have had my dream—like others— and it has come to nothing, so tha… I remain now carelessly with feet planted on the ground and look up at the sky—
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!
Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red
Fools have big wombs. For the rest?'here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter...
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 dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which
"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.