The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

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

Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right

My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

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

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