The house was quiet and the world… The reader became the book; and su… Was like the conscious being of th… The house was quiet and the world… The words were spoken as if there…

A sunny day’s complete Poussinian… Divide it from itself. It is this… And it is not. By metaphor you paint A thing. Thus, the pineapple was…

The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings,

Granted, we die for good. Life, then, is largely a thing Of happens to like, not should. And that, too, granted, why Do I happen to like red bush,

Life contracts and death is expect… As in season of autumn. The soldier falls. He does not become a three-days pe… Imposing his separation,

What syllable are you seeking, Vocalissimus, In the distances of sleep? Speak it.

One chemical afternoon in mid-autu… When the grand mechanics of earth… Even the leaves of the locust were… He walked with his year-old boy on… The sun shone and the dog barked a…

Every time the bucks went clatteri… Over Oklahoma A firecat bristled in the way. Wherever they went, They went clattering,

Go on, high ship, since now, upon… The snake has left its skin upon t… Key West sank downward under mass… And silvers and greens spread over… Is at the mast-head and the past i…

At night, by the fire, The colors of the bushes And of the fallen leaves, Repeating themselves, Turned in the room,