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

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right

Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go

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

"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—

You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet

Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…

Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous