#AmericanWriters
O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie
SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.
You know there is not much that I desire, a few chrysanthemum… half lying on the grass, yellow and brown and white, the talk of a few people, the trees,
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
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
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
When trouble comes your soul to tr… You love the friend who just “stan… Perhaps there’s nothing he can do’ The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your ow…