April had covered the hills With flickering yellows and reds, The sparkle and coolness of snow Was blown from the mountain beds. Across a deep-sunken stream

When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread… When I have picked the green crow… And piled them, cone-pointed, in a… When I have smoothed the seam of…

Like black ice Scrolled over with unintelligible… by an ignorant skater Is the dulled surface of my heart.

Naughty little speckled trout, Can’t I coax you to come out? Is it such great fun to play In the water every day? Do you pull the Naiads’ hair

Who shall declare the joy of the r… Who shall tell of the pleasures of… Springing and spurning the tufts o… Sweeping, wide-winged, through the… Everything mortal has moments immo…

How long shall I tarnish the mirr… A spatter of rust on its polished… The seasons reel Like a goaded wheel. Half-numb, half-maddened, my days…

Hold your soul open for my welcomi… Let the quiet of your spirit bathe… With its clear and rippled coolnes… That, loose-limbed and weary, I f… Outstretched upon your peace, as o…

My Grandpapa lives in a wonderful… With a great many windows and door… There are stairs that go up, and s… And such beautiful, slippery floor… But of all of the rooms, even moth…

In the brown water, Thick and silver-sheened in the su… Liquid and cool in the shade of th… A pike dozed. Lost among the shadows of stems

Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shu… A storm was rising, heavy gusts of… Swirled through the trees, and sca… Her on the clean, flagged path. T… The distant town was black, and sh…

What charm is yours, you faded old… Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of d… And we, pushing and fighting in th… Of modern life, find solace in you…

I have whetted my brain until it i… So keen that it nicks off the floa… So sharp that the air would turn i… Were it to be twisted in flight. Licking passions have bitten their…

Outside the long window, With his head on the stone sill, The dog is lying, Gazing at his Beloved. His eyes are wet and urgent,

There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber