Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet

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

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass

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

The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left

There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—

WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one

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

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.

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.