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The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices
Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion 'tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.
The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers
Paterson lies in the valley under… its spent waters forming the outli… lies on his right side, head near… of the waters filling his dreams!… his dreams walk about the city whe…
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
contend in a sea which the land pa… shielding them from the too—heavy… of an ungoverned ocean which when… tortures the biggest hulls, the be… to pit against its beatings, and s…
The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last
In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…
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…
By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain