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

The crowd at the ball game
is moved uniformly
by a spirit of uselessness
which delights them—
all the exciting detail

Little round moon up there’—wait a
'—'—'—'—'—'—
It has always been the fashion to
This that I have struggled agains
'—'—'—'—'—'—

Take it out in vile whisky, take i
in lifting your skirts to show you
crotches; it is this that is inten
You are it. Your pleas will alway
You too will always go up with the

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

Light hearted William twirled
his November moustaches
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.

The birches are mad with green poi
the wood’s edge is burning with th
burning, seething—No, no, no.
The birches are opening their leav
by one. Their delicate leaves unfo

Mr T.
bareheaded
in a soiled undershirt
his hair standing out
on all sides

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

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