#AmericanWriters
I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken
You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.
WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang
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—
She sits with tears on her cheek her cheek on her hand
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
Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!
THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—
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…
This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...
Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…
The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,
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.
The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow