(1923)
#AmericanWriters
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
My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
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...
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
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
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!