Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—

Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely

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.

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind

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

It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.

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

A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

Summer! the painting is organized about a young reaper enjoying his noonday rest

The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!

The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last