By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast - a cold… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Outside, the north wind, coming and passing, swelling and dying, lifts the frozen sand drives it a-rattle against the lidless windows and… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom-- feels the autumn dropping its… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
and there grows in the mind a scent, it may be, of locust blossoms whose perfume is itself a wind moving to… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
“unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning” — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
“You're a romanticist. What do you think a man is, a papaya? To digest your dinner? In pill form?” — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
A poem is this:/A nuance of sound/delicately operating/upon a cataract of sense/...the particulars/of a song waking/upon a bed of sound. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
