#AmericanWriters
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
Even in the time when as yet I had no certain knowledge of her She sprang from the nest, a young… Whose first flight circled the for… I know now how then she showed me
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which
The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…
unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line
Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…
Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…