According to Brueghel when Icarus fell it was spring a farmer was ploughing his field

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

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.

This particular thing, whether it be four pinches of four divers white powders cleverly compounded to cure surely, safely, pleasantly a painful twitching of the eyelids or say a pe...

Flowers through the window lavender and yellow changed by white curtains— Smell of cleanliness— Sunshine of late afternoon—

I must tell you this young tree whose round and firm trunk between the wet pavement and the gutter

These are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night

Constantly near you, I never in m… sixty-four years knew you so well… or half so well. We talked. you we… so lucid, so disengaged from all e… of place and time. We talked of ou…

Warm sun, quiet air an old man sits in the doorway of a broken house— boards for windows

It’s all in the sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should be a song—made of particulars, wasps,

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

"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—

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