#AmericanWriters
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
The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…
Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of
Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses
beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and
It is a satisfaction a joy to have one of those in the house. when she takes a bath
Among of green stiff old
Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn