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

Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely

THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—

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…

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

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

They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…

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

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

Tracks of rain and light linger in the spongy greens of a nature whos… flickering mountain—bulging nearer… ebbing back into the sun hollowing itself away to hold a la…

I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields

A middle-northern March, now as a… gusts from the South broken agains… but from under, as if a slow hand… it moves—not into April—into a sec… the old skin of wind-clear scales…