When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

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 the field by force; the grass

ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…

Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

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

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion '€˜tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity

Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail