We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is righ…

Beneath that loved and celebrated… silent, bored really blindly veine… grieves, maybe lives and lets live, passes bets, something moving but invisibly,

He sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast closed. The sails fall away below him like the sheets of his bed, leaving out in the air of the nigh…

I am in need of music that would f… Over my fretful, feeling finger—ti… Over my bitter—tainted, trembling… With melody, deep, clear, and liqu… Oh, for the healing swaying, old a…

On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can’t go home again. On the hills a million people,

It was cold and windy, scarcely th… to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as… indrawn: the tide far out, the oce… seabirds in ones or twos.

The state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish… held together by mangrave roots that bear while living oysters in… and when dead strew white swamps w…

Still dark. The unknown bird sits on his usual… The little dog next door barks in… inquiringly, just once. Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bir…

It is so peaceful on the ceiling! It is the Place de la Concorde. The little crystal chandelier is off, the fountain is in the dar… Not a soul is in the park.

I dreamed that dead, and meditatin… I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close—bui… In the cold heart, its final thoug… stood frozen, drawn immense and cl…