Dark cypresses— The world is uneasily happy; It will all be forgotten. —Theodore Storm Mother of roots, you have not seed…

Deep into spring, winter is hanging on. Bitter and skillful in his hopelessness, he stays alive in every shady place, starving along the Mediterranean: angry to see the glittering sea-p...

Relieved, I let the book fall beh… I climb a slight rise of grass. I do not want to disturb the ants Who are walking single file up the… Carrying small white petals,

Just off the highway to Rochester… Twilight bounds softly forth on th… And the eyes of those two Indian… Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the w…

I hear that the Commune di Padova… pieces from Giotto to Mantegna. G… Mantegna is the master of the dead… beings who seems to have understoo… down from the cross after all, in…

I will grieve alone, As I strolled alone, years ago, d… The Ohio shore. I hid in the hobo jungle weeds Upstream from the sewer main,

Why should we do this? What good… how can we do such a thing? How ca… —Freud My name is James A. Wright, and… Twenty-five miles from this infect…

This time, I have left my body be… In its dark thorns. Still, There are good things in this worl… It is dusk.

The house was really a cellar deep… Belmont Brewery. My father’s big… from the outside, and from within… leaned and helped. The slow door g… in delighted by our fear, and laid…

Over my head, I see the bronze bu… Asleep on the black trunk, blowing like a leaf in green shado… Down the ravine behind the empty h… The cowbells follow one another

to John Logan I wonder how many old men last win… Hungry and frightened by namelessn… The Mississippi shore Lashed blind by the wind, dreaming

Give me this time, my first and se… Italian, a poem about gold, The left corners of eyes, and the… Night of the locomotives that brou… And the heavy wine in the old gree…

Nightfall, that saw the morning-gl… Tendril and string against the cru… Nurses him now, his skeleton for g… His locks for comfort curled among… Shuttles of moonlight weave his sh…

The moon drops one or two feathers… The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon’s young,…

They did the deed of darkness In their own mid-light. He plucked a gray field mouse Suddenly in the wind. The small dead fly alive