beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and

THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…

SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.

A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was

Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

It is a small plant delicately branched and tapering conically to a point, each branch and the peak a wire for

Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees

Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows