This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

My wife’s new pink slippers have gay pompons. There is not a spot or a stain on their satin toes or their sides… All night they lie together

a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island

Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of

Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

Take it out in vile whisky, take i… in lifting your skirts to show you… crotches; it is this that is inten… You are it. Your pleas will alway… You too will always go up with the…

WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…

It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...

My townspeople, beyond in the grea… are many with whom it were far mor… profitable for me to live than her… These whirr about me calling, call… and for my own part I answer them,…

These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night