I SAW a mouth jeering. A smile o… A fist hit the mouth: knuckles of… The fist hit the mouth over and ov… And I saw the more the fist pound…

ONE man killed another. The sayi… The killer wept over the dead. Th… Why is the sun a red ball in the s… Why is the moon a tumbling chimney…

GRIEG being dead we may speak of… Grieg being dead we can talk about… Grieg being with Ibsen, Björnson… Grieg being dead does not care a h… Morning, Spring, Anitra’s Dance,

YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock w… Those grappling hooks, those wheel… The dome and the wings of you, nig… The red roof and the door of you, I know where your songs came from.

FIVE circus clowns dying this year, morning newspapers told their lives, how each one horizontal in a last gesture of hands arranged by an undertaker, shook thousands into convulsions o...

THEY are crying salt tears Over the beautiful beloved body Of Inez Milholland, Because they are glad she lived, Because she loved open-armed,

WALKED among the streets of an old city and the streets were lean as the throats of hard seafish soaked in salt and kept in barrels many years. How old, how old, how old, we are:—the...

I HAVE love And a child, A banjo And shadows. (Losses of God,

EMILY DICKINSON: You gave us the bumble bee who has… The everlasting traveler among the… And how God plays around a back y… STEVIE CRANE:

EVERYBODY loved Chick Lorimer… Far off Everybody loved her. So we all love a wild girl keeping… On a dream she wants.

Make rhythms up to the ragtime chatter of the machine guns; Make slow-booming psalms up to the boom of the big guns. Make a marching song of swinging arms and swinging legs, On ...

Red barns and red heiffers spot th… grass circles around Omaha—the far… haul tanks of cream and wagon-load… cheese. Shale hogbacks across the river at…

DO you know how the dream looms?… Summer when the lungs of the earth… And another long breath for the si… So I shall look for you in the li… In the listening tops of the hicko…

ABOWSKY’S place is on a side street and only the rain washes the dusty three balls. When I passed the window a month ago, there rested in proud isolation: A family bible with hasps ...