William Carlos Williams

First he said:
It is the woman in
That makes us write—Let us acknowledge it—Men would be silent
We are not

Flowers through the windowlavender and yellowchanged by white curtains –Smell of cleanliness – Sunshine of late afternoon –On the glass traya glass pitcher, the tumblerturned down, by whicha key is lying – And the immaculate white bed

The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices over those things that interest them
But we who are wiser shut ourselves in on either hand and no one knows whether we think good or evil
Meanwhile, the ...

The birches are mad with green points the wood's edge is burning with their green, burning, seething—No, no, no
The birches are opening their leaves one by one
Their delicate leaves unfold cold and separate, one by one
Slender tasse...

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem-save that it's green and wooden- I come, my sweet, to sing to you
We lived long together a life filled, if you will,with flowers
So that I was cheered when I came ...

The Archer is wake
The Swan is flying
Gold against blue An Arrow is lying
There is hunting in heaven— Sleep safe till tomorrow

All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed
A liquid moon moves gently among the long branches
Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold

By the road to the contagious hospitalunder the surge of the bluemottled clouds driven from thenortheast — a cold wind
Beyond, thewaste of broad, muddy fieldsbrown with dried weeds, standing and fallenpatches of standing waterthe scattering o...

Sorrow is my own yardwhere the new grassflames as it has flamedoften before but notwith the cold firethat closes round me this year
Thirtyfive yearsI lived with my husband
The plumtree is white todaywith masses of flowers
Masses of ...

When over the flowery, sharp pasture'sedge, unseen, the salt oceanlifts its form—chicory and daisiestied, released, seem hardly flowers alonebut color and the movement—or the shapeperhaps—of restlessness, whereasthe sea is circled and swayspeacefu...

As the catclimbed overthe top ofthe jamclosetfirst the rightforefootcarefullythen the hindstepped downinto the pit ofthe emptyflowerpot

Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang and when he emerged from that one hundred eight minutes off the surface of the earth he was smiling
Then he returned to take his place among the rest of us from al...

Snow falls:years of anger followinghours that float idly down —the blizzarddrifts its weightdeeper and deeper for three daysor sixty years, eh
Thenthe sun
a clutter ofyellow and blue flakes —Hairy looking trees stand outin long alleysove...

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 does not raise above it
Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be, with a purple...

Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed nose of mine
what will you not be smelling
What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose, always indiscriminate, always unashamed, and now it is the souring flowers of the bedreggled poplars: a fe...

Old age isa flight of smallcheeping birdsskimmingbare treesabove a snow glaze
Gaining and failingthey are buffetedby a dark wind —But what
On harsh weedstalksthe flock has rested —the snowis covered with brokenseed husksand the wind temp...