"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,

Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

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

Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...

An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…

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

The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion '€˜tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity

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.

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

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