a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island

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

Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…

In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square

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

I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,

Nude bodies like peeled logs sometimes give off a sweetest odor, man and woman under the trees in full excess matching the cushion of

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous

It was an icy day. We buried the cat, then took her box and set fire to it in the back yard.

The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!

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…

It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,

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

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…