These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night

Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on

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

From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor

Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees

ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

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

contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…

A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…

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