I hear America singing, the varie
Those of mechanics, each one singi
The carpenter singing his as he me
The mason singing his as he makes

On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial

When lilacs last in the dooryard b
And the great star early droop’d i
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn wit
Ever—returning spring, trinity sur
Lilac blooming …

Buffalo Bill 's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth—silver
stallion

i carry your heart with me(i carry
my heart)i am never without it(any
i go you go, my dear;and whatever
by only me is your doing, my darli
i fear

in Just-
spring when the world is
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest

Miss Nancy Ellicott
Strode across the hills and broke
Rode across the hills and broke th
The barren New England hills —
Riding to hounds

Here I am, an old man in a dry mo
Being read to by a boy, waiting fo
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, h

As she laughed I was aware of bec
in her laughter and being part of
teeth were only accidental stars w
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by
inhaled at each momentary recovery

You came to my door in the dawn an
You came in the noon and asked for
You came in the evening with your

Tulsidas, the poet, was wandering,
He found a woman sitting at the fe
She rose as she saw him, bowed to

Where the mind is without fear and
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broke
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the dept

On the seashore of endless worlds
The infinite sky is motionless ove
They build their houses with sand,

My love, once upon a time your poe
Alas, I was not careful, and it s
It broke up into scraps of songs a
All my cargo of the stories of old

Who are you, reader, reading my po
I cannot send you one single flowe
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather

“Come and hire me,” I cried, whil
Sword in hand, the King came in h
He held my hand and said, “I will
But his power counted for nought,

Now as I watch you, strong of arm
With the waves that rush against y
Into my heart, grown each day more
Of mind and soul that …

the back wings
of the
hospital where
nothing
will grow lie

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among

It was an icy day.
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the back yard.

If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists

This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presenc
Emily Dickinson Wellcome
who was born in England; married;

The pure products of America
go crazy—
mountain folk from Kentucky
or the ribbed north end of
Jersey

I will teach you my towns
how to perform a funeral
for you have it over a tr
of artists—
unless one should scour t

Oh, black Persian cat!
Was not your life
already cursed with offspring?
We took you for rest to that old
Yankee farm, —so lonely

Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red

The crowd at the ball game
is moved uniformly
by a spirit of uselessness
which delights them—
all the exciting detail

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the w
My soul has grown deep like the ri
I bathed in the Euphrates when da
I built my hut near the Congo and

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?

Clean the spittoons, boy.
Detroit,
Chicago,
Atlantic City,
Palm Beach.

And with great fear I inhabit the
What wrecks of the mind await me,
to dull the senses, what little I
what more can be taken away?
The fear of travelling, of the fut

Our age bereft of nobility
How can our faces show it?
I look for love.
My lips stand out
dry and cracked with want