I DON’T know how he came, shambling, dark, and strong. He stood in the city and told men: My people are fools, my people are… Always he kept on asking: Where d…

RED gold of pools, Sunset furrows six o’clock, And the farmer done in the fields And the cows in the barns with bul… Take the cows and the farmer,

MRS. GABRIELLE GIOVANNI… every morning at nine o’clock With kindling wood piled on top of… looking straight ahead to find the… Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pietro…

I DREAMED one man stood agains… One man damned as a wrongheaded fo… One year and another he walked the… And a thousand shrugs and hoots Met him in the shoulders and mouth…

YELLOW dust on a bumble bee’s wing, Grey lights in a woman’s asking eyes, Red ruins in the changing

Bend low again, night of summer st… So near you are, sky of summer sta… So near, a long-arm man can pick o… Pick off what he wants in the sky… So near you are, summer stars,

Into the blue river hills The red sun runners go And the long sand changes And to-day is a goner And to-day is not worth haggling o…

I LOVE your faces I saw the man… I drank your milk and filled my mo… With your home talk, slept in your… And was one of you. But a fire burns in my heart.

THERE was a late autumn cricket, And two smoldering mountain sunset… Under the valley roads of her eyes… There was a late autumn cricket, A hangover of summer song,

LONG ago I learned how to sleep, In an old apple orchard where the… In a wind-gaunt orchard where the… In a passel of trees where the bra… I slept with my head in an elbow o…

YOUR eyes and the valley are mem… Your eyes fire and the valley a bo… It was here a moonrise crept over… It was here we turned the coffee c… And your eyes and the moon swept t…

YOUR bow swept over a string, an… quivered to the air. (A mother of Bohemia sobs over a… learning to suck milk.) Your bow ran fast over all the hig…

THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs On the night sky hair of the women… And the long light-fingered men Spoke to the dark-haired women, ‘Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelie…

THERE are no handles upon a lang… Whereby men take hold of it And mark it with signs for its rem… It is a river, this language, Once in a thousand years