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

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.

Oh, black Persian cat! Was not your life already cursed with offspring? We took you for rest to that old Yankee farm, —so lonely

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

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—

Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...

Each time it rings I think it is for me but it is not for me nor for anyone it merely

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

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, th… waste of broad, muddy fields

This is a schoolyard crowded with children of all ages near a village on a small stream

A power-house in the shape of a red brick chair 90 feet high on the seat of which

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

the back wings of the hospital where nothing will grow lie

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