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

My shoes as I lean unlacing them stand out upon flat worsted flowers under my feet.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees

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…

I will teach you my towns… how to perform a funeral… for you have it over a tr… of artists— unless one should scour t…

a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island

Subtle, clever brain, wiser than… by what devious means do you contr… to remain idle? Teach me, O maste…

When I am alone I am happy. The air is cool. The sky is flecked and splashed and wound with color. The crimson phalloi of the sassafras leaves

Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth ——nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking the field by force; the grass

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

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…

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

It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.