I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine

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…

I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…

Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves

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

To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...

Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields

The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which

If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake…

unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line

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

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn