Don’t call this world adorable, or… It’s frisky, and a theater for mor… The eyelash of lightning is neithe… The struck tree burns like a pilla… But the blue rain sinks, straight…

In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind-bird with its white eyes

Every morning the world is created. Under the orange sticks of the sun

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the bramb… nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching

The feet of the heron, under those bamboo stems, hold the blue body, the great beak above the shallows

My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hum… equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there t… Here the clam deep in the speckled…

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black b… Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean– the one who has flung herself out…

Come with me into the field of sunflowers. Their faces are burnished disks, their dry spines creak like ship masts,

Not quite four a.m., when the rapt… strikes me from sleep, and I rise from the comfortable bed and go to another room, where my books ar… in their neat and colorful rows. H…

The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocks And cut-work ferns,

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, lik… the wings of a moth in the beak of… Who has it, and who doesn’t? I keep looking around me.

In the early curtains of the dusk it flew, a slow galloping this way and that way

Did you too see it, drifting, all… Did you see it in the morning, ris… An armful of white blossoms, A perfect commotion of silk and li… into the bondage of its wings; a s…

When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the… to buy me, and snaps the purse shu… when death comes