That’s my last Duchess painted on
Looking as if she were alive. I c
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pan
Worked busily a day, and there she
Will’t please you sit and look at

When I am grown to man’s estate
I shall be very proud and great,
And tell the other girls and boys
Not to meddle with my toys.

Do ye hear the children weeping,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in th

Fairfax, whose name in arms throug
Filling each mouth with envy, or w
And all her jealous monarchs with
And rumours loud, that daunt remot
Thy firm unshak’n virtue ever brin

Apeneck Sweeney spread his knees
Letting his arms hang down to laug
The zebra stripes along his jaw
Swelling to maculate giraffe.
The circles of the stormy moon

munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand
They taste good to her
They taste good

By the rude bridge that arched the
Their flag to April’s breeze unfu
Here once the embattled farmers st
And fired the shot heard round the
The foe long since in silence slep

Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer,
Possessed the land which rendered
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, appl
Each of these landlords walked ami
Saying, “’Tis mine, my children’s

Though loath to grieve
The evil time’s sole patriot,
I cannot leave
My honied thought
For the priest’s cant,

Parks and ponds are good by day;
I do not delight
In black acres of the night,
Nor my unseasoned step disturbs
The sleeps of trees or dreams of h

The water understands
Civilization well;
It wets my foot, but prettily,
It chills my life, but wittily,
It is not disconcerted,

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,

I’m all alone in this world, she s
Ain’t got nobody to share my bed,
Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand—
The truth of the matter’s
I ain’t got no man.

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

… piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on … like
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man … b

It was a’ for our rightful king
That we left fair Scotland’s stra
It was a’ for our rightful king
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear,

Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, an’ a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,

When biting Boreas, fell and dour
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless b
When Phoebus gies a short—liv’d g
Far south the lift,
Dim—dark’ning thro’ the flaky show

Auld Coila now may fidge fu’ fain
She’s gotten poets o’ her ain—
Chiels wha their chanters winna ha
But tune their lays,
Till echoes a’ resound again

There, Robert, you have kill’d th
And should you thousand ages try
The life you’ve taken to supply,
You could not do it.
You surely must have been devoid

PLACE. —A small alcove with dar
The class consists of one member.
SUBJECT.—Thomson’s Mirror Gal
The lamp—light falls on blackened
And streams through narrow …

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

God love you
Dana my lover
lost in the horde
on this Friday night,
500 men are moving up

to Somes
from incarceration, Taunton State
gaunt, ugly deformed
broken from the womb, and horribly
at the labor of their forefathers,

I sit in Lees. At 11:40 PM with
Jimmy the pusher. He teaches me
Ju Ju. Hot on the table before us
shrimp foo yong, rice and mushroom
chow yuke. Up the street under the

Mine own John Poynz, since ye del
The cause why that homeward I me
And flee the press of courts, wher
Rather than to live thrall under t
Of lordly looks, wrappèd within my

Patience, though I have not
The thing that I require,
I must of force, God wot,
Forbear my most desire;
For no ways can I find

With usura hath no man a house of
each block cut smooth and well fit
that design might cover their face
with usura
hath no man a painted paradise on

The thought of what America would
If the Classics had a wide circul
Troubles my sleep,
The thought of what America,
The thought of what America,

And then went down to the ship,
Set keel to breakers, forth on the
We set up mast and sail on that sw
Bore sheep aboard her, and our bod
Heavy with weeping, and winds from

The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wynham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,