The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.

Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…

This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with

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

Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—

Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...

Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...

Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of

It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated ate and sang