Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang

It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...

The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

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

Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!

Upon the table in their bowl in violent disarray of yellow sprays, green spikes of leaves, red pointed petals and curled heads of blue

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…

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

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

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…