I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…

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

Light hearted William twirled his November moustaches and, half dressed, looked from the bedroom window upon the spring weather.

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,

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…

O—EH—lee! La—la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left

When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves

Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…

ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…

Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows

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…