The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s

The buzz—saw snarled and rattled i
And made dust and dropped stove—le
Sweet—scented stuff when the breez
And from there those that lifted e
Five mountain ranges one behind th

Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in th
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily “Hit them har
I knew pretty well why he had drop

(Microscopic)
A speck that would have been benea
On any but a paper sheet so white
Set off across what I had written
And I had idly poised my pen in a

A plow, they say, to plow the snow
They cannot mean to plant it, no—
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.

Blood has been harder to dam back
Just when we think we have it impo
Behind new barrier walls (and let
It breaks away in some new kind of
We choose to say it is let loose b

Here come the line-gang pioneering
They throw a forest down less cut
They plant dead trees for living,
They string together with a living
They string an instrument against

The great Overdog
That heavenly beast
With a star in one eye
Gives a leap in the east.
He dances upright

I found a dimpled spider, fat and
On a white heal-all, holding up a
Like a white piece of rigid satin
Assorted characters of death and b
Mixed ready to begin the morning r

Oh, give us pleasure in the flower
And give us not to think so far aw
As the uncertain harvest; keep us
All simply in the springing of the
Oh, gives us pleasure in the orcha