All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among

You Communists and Republicans! all you Germans and Frenchmen! you corpses and quickeners! The stars are about to melt and fall on you in tears.

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

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

I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

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

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

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

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...

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge

I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.

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