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

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

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…

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

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

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…

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

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.

A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.

The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers