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

Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.

The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…

Beloved you are Caviar of Caviar Of all I love you best O my Japanese bird nest No herring from Norway

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...

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…

Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn

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…

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…

This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with