They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.

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…

When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

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...

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…

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

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

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

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

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—

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

Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a worthy...