#AmericanWriters
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
The birches are mad with green poi… the wood’s edge is burning with th… burning, seething—No, no, no. The birches are opening their leav… by one. Their delicate leaves unfo…
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good
The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me
Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on
It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...
It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for
Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…
Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn