1911

1910

1909

1908

1907

1906

1905

1904

1903

1902

1901

1900

1899
Scarfs of blue,
Of blue scapes cohere
With a present essence.
The wind makes a voice
Of the green myriads
With a flexing hiss.
Red bolts of sky unfurl,
But indifferently as if
By the new sun's disdain
For color, for mindful occurrence,
For nature making a shape of sound.

1898

1897

1896

1895

1894

1893

1892

1891
A different artistry
Is not there.
A flame whose scent
Folds years
Burns with no recollection:
In elemental shallows
Is this a field before words,
Where suns spin and matters
Change state;
It wants no art
Being art's conception,
Whose creature's pluck beauty from the air.

1890

1889

1888

1887

1886

1885

1884