SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.

One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…

O’€”eh’€”lee! La’€”la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

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

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

The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow

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