A big young bareheaded woman in an apron Her hair slicked back standing on the street One stockinged foot toeing

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

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

beauty is a shell from the sea where she rules triumphant till love has had its way with her scallops and

Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem— save that it’s green and wooden— I come, my sweet,

Why pretend to remember the weather two years back? Why not? Listen close then repeat after others what they have just said and win a reputation for vivacity. Oh feed upon petals o...

Oh strong—ridged and deeply hollow… nose of mine! what will you not be… What tactless asses we are, you an… always indiscriminate, always unas… and now it is the souring flowers…

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

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

To make two bold statements: There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there’s nothing sentimental about a poe...

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

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

Winter is long in this climate and spring—a matter of a few days only,—a flower or two picked from mud or from among wet leaves or at best against treacherous

Why go further? One might conceivably rectify the rhythm, study all out and arrive at the perfection of a tiger lily or a china doorknob. One might lift all out of the ruck, be a worthy...