The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has mov…

Those villages stricken with the m… in all of whose ocher streets one… those volcanoes like ashen roses,… of poverty, around whose puckered… selling yellow sulphur stone

Then all the nations of birds lift… the huge net of the shadows of thi… in multitudinous dialects, twitter… stitching and crossing it. They li… the shadows of long pines down tra…

So much rain, so much life like th… of this black August. My sister,… broods in her yellow room and won’… Everything goes to hell; the mount… like a kettle, rivers overrun; sti…

Man, I suck me tooth when I hear How dem croptime fiddlers lie, And de wailing, kiss-me-arse flute… That bring water to me eye! Oh, when I t’ink how from young

Better a jungle in the head than rootless concrete. Better to stand bewildered by the fireflies’ crooked street; winter lamps do not show

Schizophrenic, wrenched by two sty… one a hack’s hired prose, I earn me exile. I trudge this sickle, mo… tan, burn to slough off

The last leaves fell like notes fr… and left their ovals echoing in th… with gawky music stands, the winte… looks like an empty orchestra, its… ruled on these scattered manuscrip…

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirr… and each will smile at the other’s…

This coral’s hape ecohes the hand It hollowed. Its Immediate absence is heavy. As pu… As your breast in my cupped palm. Sea-cold, its nipple rasps like sa…

After that hot gospeller has level… I wrote the tale by tallow of a ci… Under a candle’s eye, that smoked… Wanted to tell, in more than wax,… All day I walked abroad among the…

Old Eddie’s face, wrinkled with r… Looked like a Mississippi man’s.… Derisive and avuncular at once, Swivelling, fixed me. They’d see… Too many wakes, too many cathouse…

There were still shards of an anci… in those shires of the island wher… their pools of shadow from an olde… surviving from when the landscape… ‘Herefords at Sunset in the valle…

Those five or six young guys lunched on the stoop that oven-hot summer night whistled me over. Nice and friendly. So, I stop.

though our longest sun sets at rig… makes but winter arches, it cannot be long before we lie do… have our light in ashes. . . Browne, Urn Burial