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

This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with

I feel the caress of my own finger… on my own neck as I place my colla… and think pityingly of the kind women I have known.

Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…

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

While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on

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

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!

beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and

Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on

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

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…

I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine

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!

Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves