School is over. It is too hot to walk at ease. At ease in light frocks they walk the stre… to while the time away. They have grown tall. They hold

I stopped the car to let the children down where the streets end in the sun at the marsh edge

THERE is a bird in the poplars— It is the sun! The leaves are little yellow fish Swimming in the river; The bird skims above them—

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which

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...

Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen… the baby hard to find a father for… What will the good Father in Heav… to the local judge if he do not so… A little two-pointed smile and—pou…

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait,

SOFT as the bed in the earth Where a stone has lain— So soft, so smooth and so cool, Spring closes me in With her arms and her hands.

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

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang

Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet

One leaves his leaves at home beomg a mullen and sends up a ligh… to peer from: I will have my way, yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten fifty, a hundred, smaller and smal…

The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky