Once, when dust rolled up from the road and the fields were high with heavy-handled wheat and the leaves of every tree were gray a...nd curledup and hung head down, I went in the meadow with an old broom like a gun, where the dandelions had begun to seed and the low ground was cracked, and I flushed grasshoppers from the goldenrod in whirring clouds like quail and shot them down. I smelled wheat in the warm wind and every weed. I tasted dust in my mouth.... I hunted Horse Simon in the shade of a tree. I rode the broom over the brown meadow grass and with a fist like pistol butt and trigger shot the Indian on Horse Simon down.... My horse had a golden tail. Dust rolled up behind. He was on the tractor in a broad-brimmed hat. With a fist like a pistol butt and trigger, going fast, I shot him down.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
He shakes the dust from off his feet And shambles down the dirty street... The last man in the town, they said, Who'd shot a hundred Yankees dead.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
If, as they say, some dust thrown in my eyes Will keep my talk from getting overwise,... I'm not the one for putting off the proof.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me--nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »