Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air—The edge

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…

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!

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

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…

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…

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

A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.

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

The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…

O’€”eh’€”lee! La’€”la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass

Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion '€˜tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity

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