Onehundredseventyfour

Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot, others transform a…


Onehundredseventythree

Crown the hair, and come away! Hear the calling of the moon, And the…


Onehundredseventytwo

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and…


Onehundredseventyone

            If I told him would he like it. Would he like it if I told…


Onehundredseventy

The jester walked in the garden: The garden had fallen still; He bade…


Onehundredsixtynine

My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I…


Onehundredsixtyeight

I light this sympathetic flame,       My faintest wish that answers, I…


Onehundredsixtyseven

Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the…


Onehundredsixtysix

The morning comes to consciousness Of faint stale smells of beer From…


Onehundredsixtyfive

The more one judges, the less one loves. HONORE DE BALZAC