Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—

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

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

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

Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…

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.

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

Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest

Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go

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

The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky