the beauties of travel are due tothe strange hours we keep to see them:the domes of the Church ofthe Paulist Fathers in Weehawkenagainst a smoky dawn — the heart stirred —are beautiful as Saint Petersapproached after years of anticipation.IIThough the operation was postponedI saw the tall probationersin their tan uniformshurrying to breakfast!III— and from basement…
about the pavementquarrelingwith sharp voicesover those thingsthat interest them.But we who are wisershut ourselves inon either handand no one knowswhether we think goodor evil.Meanwhile,the old man who goes aboutgathering dog-limewalks in the gutterwithout looking upand his treadis more majestic thanthat of the Episcopal ministerapproaching the pulpitof a Sunday.These thingsastonish me beyond words.
crowdedwith childrenof all ages near a villageon a small streammeandering bywhere some boysare swimmingbare-assor climbing a tree in leafeverythingis motionelder women are lookingafter the smallfrya play wedding achristeningnearby one leansholleringintoan empty hogsheadIILittle girlswhirling their skirts aboutuntil they stand out flattops pinwheelsto run in the wind withor a toy in 3 tiers to spinwith a pieceof…
the wooden walls of her husband’s house.I pass solitary in my car.Then again she comes to the curbto call the ice-man, fish-man, and standsshy, uncorseted, tucking instray ends of hair, and I compare herto a fallen leaf.The noiseless wheels of my carrush with a crackling sound overdried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.
that were inthe iceboxand whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfastForgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold
——————In middle life the mind passes to a variegated October. This is the time youth in its faulty aspirations has set for the achievement of great summits. But having attained the mountain top one is not snatched into a cloud but the descent proffers its blandishments quite as a matter of course. At this the…
the Babe in its Mother’s armsthe Wise Men in their stolensplendorand Joseph and the soldieryattendantwith their incredulous facesmake a scene copied we’ll sayfrom the Italian mastersbut with a differencethe masteryof the paintingand the mind the resourceful mindthat governed the wholethe alert mind dissatisfied withwhat it is asked toand cannot doaccepted the story and paintedit in…
That I seek everywhereTo make up my band?None, not oneWith the earthy tastes I require:The burrowing pride that risesSubtly as on a bush in May.Where are you this day—You, my seven-year locustsWith cased wings?Ah, my beauties, how I long!That harvestThat shall be your advent—Thrusting up through the grass,Up under the weeds,Answering me—That shall be satisfying!The…
stand out uponflat worsted flowersunder my feet.Nimbly the shadowsof my fingers playunlacingover shoes and flowers.
me but it isnot for me nor foranyone it merelyrings and weserve it bitterlytogether, they and I
