From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.

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

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...

The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls

The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them— all the exciting detail