You alone almost baffle me, potshaped blossoms—
Were you fashioned by childless women, who made you the infants
Denied them by life?
Study of a Face
Her forehead is the wind-colored, sun-stilled wall of a country church.
Trailing cloud-shudders overhead narrow it to a thin band of vague light:
Two tarnished, exultant cerements of earth—cheeks—meet it,
And the three speak clearly, languidly.
An Old Man Humming a Song
Life was a frayed, pampered lily to him—