As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right

The grass is very green, my friend… and tousled, like the head of —— your grandson, yes? And the mounta… the mountain we climbed twenty years since for the last

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

ALL those treasures that lie in t… Mightier than the room of the star… All those treasures—I hold them i… Against the sides and the lid and… Crying that there is no sun come a…

This is a slight stiff dance to a…  There is nothing the sky—serpent w… Security, solidity—we laugh at the… My little son’s improvisations…

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

Here it is spring again and I still a young man! I am late at my singing. The sparrow with the black rain on… has been at his cadenzas for two w…

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,

In this world of as fine a pair of breasts as ever I saw the fountain in Madison Square

A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn

The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background the return from the hunt it is toward evening from the left