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

They tell me on the morrow I must… This winter eyrie for a southern f… And truth to tell I tremble with… At thought of such unheralded repr… E’er have I known December in a w…

Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.

The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

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

O’€”eh’€”lee! La’€”la! Donna! Donna! Blue is the sky of Palermo; Blue is the little bay; And dost thou remember the orange…

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion '€˜tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity

First he said: It is the woman in us That makes us write– Let us acknowledge it– Men would be silent.

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

They call me and I go. It is a frozen road past midnight, a dust of snow caught in the rigid wheeltracks.

It is still warm enough to slip from the weeds into the lake’s edge, your clothes blushing in the grass and three small boys grinning behind the derelict hearth’s side. But summer...

From the Nativity which I have already celebrated the Babe in its Mother’s arms the Wise Men in their stolen splendor