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…

In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

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

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—

Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island

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…

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

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

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