The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

The furies are at home
in the mirror; it is their address
Even the clearest water,
if deep enough can drown.
Never think to surprise them.

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

Every soul that touches yours—
Be it the slightest contact—
Get there from some good;
Some little grace; one kindly thou
One aspiration yet unfelt;

There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become

Abstraction is an old story with t
Granted no one but a humanist much
Then there is this wildness whereo
It should be of the pleasure of a
No tears in the writer, no tears i

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hum
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there t
Here the clam deep in the speckled

Go to Tibet.
Ride a camel.
Read the Bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a Beard.

Understand, I am always trying to
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape
and so, last week,

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.

I was a bum in San Francisco but
to go to a symphony concert along
and the music was good but somethi
audience was not
and something about the orchestra

The apes yawn and adore their flea
The parrots shriek as if they were
Like cheap tarts to attract the st
Fatigued with indolence, tiger and
Lie still as the sun. The boa-con

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.
The refrigerator whinnied into sil

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

We wear the mask that grins and li
It shades our cheeks and hides our
This debt we pay to human guile
With torn and bleeding hearts…
We smile and mouth the myriad subt

We sit indoors and talk of the col
And every gust that gathers streng
Is a threat to the house. But the
We think of the tree. If it never
We’ll know, we say, that this was

I am a kind word uttered and repea
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements

1. Men’s novels are about men. Wo
Women do not usually write novels
2. I like to read novels in which
3. Men favor heroes who are tough
4. Men’s novels are about how to g

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blo
The winter sun creeps by the snow
The stubborn season has made stand
My life is light, waiting for the
Like a feather on the back of my h

Lo han despojado del diverso mundo
de los rostros, que son lo que era
De las cercanas calles, hoy distan
y del cóncavo azul, ayer profundo.
De los libros le queda lo que deja

My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms,
Quiet and small and just astir
And whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son, our instru

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.

Happy ye leaves when as those lill
Which hold my life in their dead d
Shall handle you and hold in loves
Lyke captives trembling at the vic
And happy lines, on which with sta

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could the
Said the fly, “let us flee!”
“Let us fly!” said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering

The large cool store selling cheap
Set out in simple sizes plainly
(Knitwear, Summer Casuals, Hose,
In Browns and greys, maroons and
Conjures the weekday world of thos

I’d seen
their hoofprints in the deep
needles and knew
they ended the long night
under the pines, walking

Let me tell you a little story
About Miss Edith Gee;
She lived in Clevedon Terrace
At number 83.
She’d a slight squint in her left

Many authorities on bird life had
It was a remarkably fine phoenix,
It costs a great deal of money to
For quite a while Mr. Poldero con
But then business slackened. The

My man is Black Golden Amber Cha
Warm mouths of Brandy Fine
Cautious sunlight on a patterned r
Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi
Graceful turns on woolen stilts S

No speed of wind or water rushing
But you have speed far greater. Y
Back up a stream of radiance to th
And back through history up the st
And you were given this swiftness,

If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording