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...

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

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go

Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…

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

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,

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

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

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…

I have discovered that most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see t… the domes of the Church of the Paulist Fathers in Weehawken

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…

An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…

The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another,

From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor