The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air. The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in ...

My heart is like a cleft pomegrana… Bleeding crimson seeds And dripping them on the ground. My heart gapes because it is ripe… And its seeds are bursting from it…

I have whetted my brain until it i… So keen that it nicks off the floa… So sharp that the air would turn i… Were it to be twisted in flight. Licking passions have bitten their…

Dear Bessie, would my tired rhyme Had force to rise from apathy, And shaking off its lethargy Ring word-tones like a Christmas… But in my soul’s high belfry, chil…

How should I sing when buffeting… And stung with bitter surges, in w… I toss, a cockleshell? The dreadf… Marshals its undefeated dark and r… In brutal madness, reeling over gr…

How empty seems the town now you a… A wilderness of sad streets, where… Hide nothing to desire; sunshine f… Eery, distorted, as it long had sh… On white, dead faces tombed in hal…

Brighter than fireflies upon the… Are your words in the dark, Belov…

Before me, On either side of me, I see sand. If I turn the corner of my house, I see sand,

The rain gullies the garden paths And tinkles on the broad sides of… A tree, at the end of my arm, is h… Even so, I can see that it has re… A scarlet fruit,

A bullet through his heart at dawn. On the table a letter signed with a woman’s name. A wind that goes howling round the house, and weeping as in shame. Cold November dawn peeping throu...

Throughout the echoing chambers of… I hear your words in mournful cade… Like some slow passing-bell which… Of sundering darkness. Unrelentin… To batter down resistance, fall ag…

Over the housetops, Above the rotating chimney-pots, I have seen a shiver of amethyst, And blue and cinnamon have flicker… A moment,

He died of “Stranger’s Fever” whe… Had scarcely melted into manhood,… The chiselled legend runs; a broth… Laid bare for epitaph. The savage… Of a sunny, bright, but alien land…

A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran and hid among the staves Of an old wharf. A watery light

It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swoopin… Looping round corners, Sliding over the cobble-stones, Whipping and veering,