Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson, br… But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff of… II. We milk the cow of the world, and… We whisper in her ear, ‘You are n…

Seeing the snowman standing all al… In dusk and cold is more than he c… The small boy weeps to hear the wi… A night of gnashings and enormous… His tearful sight can hardly reach…

It’s not the case, though some mig… Who from a window watch the blizza… White riot through their branches… That they keep snug beneath their… They take affliction in until it j…

Sidling upon the river, the white… Has volleyed with its cannon all t… Shaken the shore towns like a Jud… Telling the palsied water its dema… That the crime come to the top aga…

Piecemeal the summer dies; At the field’s edge a daisy lives… A last shawl of burning lies On a gray field-stone. All cries are thin and terse;

One wading a Fall meadow finds on… The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like… On water; it glides So from the walker, it turns Dry grass to a lake, as the slight…

The good gray guardians of art Patrol the halls on spongy shoes, Impartially protective, though Perhaps suspicious of Toulouse. Here dozes one against the wall,

Rabbi, we Gadarenes Are not ascetics; we are fond of w… Love, as You call it, we obviate… Of the planned release of aggressi… We have deep faith in properity.

for Rene Magritte The carpenter’s made a hole In the parlor floor, and I’m stan… Staring down into it now At four o’clock in the evening,

St. John tells how, at Cana’s wed… The water-pots poured wine in such… That by his sober count There were a hundred gallons at th… It made no earthly sense, unless t…

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys, And spirited from sleep, the astou… soul Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple

A woman I have never seen before Steps from the darkness of her tow… At just that crux of time when she… So beautiful that she or time must… What use to claim that as she tugs…

It is a cramped little state with… Save to be thought inoffensive. T… Has never been fathomed, owing to… Of allowing each sentence to trail… Those who have visited Scusi, the…

I read how Quixote in his random… Came to a crossing once, and lest… The purity of chance, would not de… Whither to fare, but wished his ho… For glory lay wherever turned the…

Shall I love God for causing me t… I was mere utterance; shall these… Yet when I caused His work to jar… And one free subject loosened all… I love Him that He did not in a r…