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…

Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...

The dayseye hugging the earth in August, ha! Spring is gone down in purple, weeds stand high in the corn, the rainbeaten furrow

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

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

While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on

The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail

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

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 the field by force; the grass

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.

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

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

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn