Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,

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…

The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me

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.

unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

Go to sleep—though of course you w… to tideless waves thundering slant… strong embankments, rattle and swi… dashed thirty feet high, caught by… scattered and strewn broadcast in…

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

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

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.

Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...