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Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow! It is not a color. It is summer! It is the wind on a willow, the lap of waves, the shadow
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…
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…
I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine
O’eh’lee! La’la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…
By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.
Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet
What have I to say to you When we shall meet? Yet— I lie here thinking of you. The stain of love
This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading
It’s a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey
The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky