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Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,
Mr T. bareheaded in a soiled undershirt his hair standing out on all sides
According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .
The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls
Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…
Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
This plot of ground facing the waters of this inlet is dedicated to the living presenc… Emily Dickinson Wellcome who was born in England; married;
Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…