#AmericanWriters
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
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…
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
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.
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
Rather notice, mon cher, that the moon is titled above the point of the steeple than that its color
My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky