A rumpled sheet Of brown paper About the length And apparent bulk Of a man was

THE ARCHER is wake! The Swan is flying! Gold against blue An Arrow is lying. There is hunting in heaven—

Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees

All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous

An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright… and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge…

The murderer’s little daughter who is barely ten years old jerks her shoulders right and left so as to catch a glimpse of me

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

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…

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

Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derisi… outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am

The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky