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.

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

If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the

Leaves are graygreen, the glass broken, bright green.

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

Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge,—beating it, beating…

Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees

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

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

Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...

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