In the flashes and black shadows of July the days, locked in each other’s a… seem still so that squirrels and colored bird…

The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

A day on the boulevards chosen out… student poverty! One best day out… Berket in high spirits—"Ha, orang… And he made to snatch an orange fr… Now so clever was the deception, s…

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

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

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

The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers

Not because of his eyes, the eyes of a bird, but because he is beaked, birdlike, to do an injury, has the turtle attracted you.

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

WHERE shall I find you— You, my grotesque fellows That I seek everywhere To make up my band? None, not one

unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line

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

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

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—