to John Logan I wonder how many old men last win… Hungry and frightened by namelessn… The Mississippi shore Lashed blind by the wind, dreaming

Deep into spring, winter is hanging on. Bitter and skillful in his hopelessness, he stays alive in every shady place, starving along the Mediterranean: angry to see the glittering sea-p...

The house was really a cellar deep… Belmont Brewery. My father’s big… from the outside, and from within… leaned and helped. The slow door g… in delighted by our fear, and laid…

Many animals that our fathers kill… Had quick eyes. They stared about wildly, When the moon went dark. The new moon falls into the freigh…

Near the dry river’s water-mark we… Your brother Minnegan, Flopped like a fish against the mu… Beany, the kid whose yellow hair t… Told me to find you, even if the r…

Along the sprawled body of the der… I strike a match slowly and lift i… No wind. Beyond town, three heavy white hor… Wade all the way to their shoulder…

Beautiful natural blossoms, Pure delicate body, You stand without trembling. Little mist of fallen starlight, Perfect, beyond my reach,

And how can I, born in evil days And fresh from failure, ask a kind… —Written A.D. 819 Po Chu-i, balding old politician, What’s the use?

Nightfall, that saw the morning-gl… Tendril and string against the cru… Nurses him now, his skeleton for g… His locks for comfort curled among… Shuttles of moonlight weave his sh…

I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements o...

I had no idea the elf owl Crept into you in the secret Of night. I have torn myself out of many bit… In America, that seemed

Still, I would leap too Into the light, If I had the chance. It is everything, the wet green st…

I was only a young man In those days. On that evening The cold was so God damned Bitter there was nothing. Nothing. I was in trouble

Relieved, I let the book fall beh… I climb a slight rise of grass. I do not want to disturb the ants Who are walking single file up the… Carrying small white petals,

Give me this time, my first and se… Italian, a poem about gold, The left corners of eyes, and the… Night of the locomotives that brou… And the heavy wine in the old gree…