The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,

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…

This is a slight stiff dance to a waking baby whose arms have been lying curled back above his head upon the pillow, making a flower—the eyes closed. Dead to the world! Waking is a...

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang

According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—

They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass

There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream