Who knows Where my sight goes, What your sight shows— Where the peachtree blows? The frogs sing

Dear Emily, my tears would burn y… But for the fire-dry line that mak… Burning my eyes, my fingers, while… Singly the words that crease my he… If I could make some tortured pil…

God spoke once in the dark: dead s… in the dead silence. I turned in my sleep.       I slept and sank away. Then breath by breath I rose

The young are quick of speech. Grown middle-aged, I teach Corrosion and distrust, Exacting what I must. A poem is what stands

Far out of sight forever stands th… Bounding the land with pale tranqu… When a small child, I watched it… At thirty miles or more. The visi… Lies in the eye, soft blue and far…

Snake River Country I now remembered slowly how I cam… I, sometime living, sometime with… Creeping by iron ways across the b… Wastes of Wyoming, turning in des…

I was the patriarch of the shining… Of the blond summer and metallic g… Men vanished at the motion of my h… And when I beckoned they would co… The earth grew dense with grain at…

My mother Foresaw deaths And walked among Chrysanthemums, Winecolored,

Achilles Holt, Stanford, 1930 Here for a few short years Strengthen affections; meet, Later, the dull arrears Of age, and be discreet.

The branches, jointed, pointing up and out, shine out like brass. Upon the heavy

The spring has darkened with activ… The future gathers in vine, bush,… Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, an… Degrees and kinds of color, taste,… These will advance in their due se…

Now every leaf, though colorless,… With disembodied and celestial lig… And drops without a movement or a… A pillar of darkness to the shifti… The lucent, thin, and alcoholic fl…