#AmericanWriters
It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain
In Brueghel’s great picture, The… the dancers go round, they go roun… around, the squeal and the blare a… tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and f… tipping their bellies (round as th…
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among
My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely
In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square
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
Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
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
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…