who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household? PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN IN BED There’s my things drying in the corner: that blue skirt joined to the grey shirt-- I’m sick of trouble! Lift the covers if you want me and you’ll see the rest of my clothes-- though it would be cold lying with nothing on! I won’t work and I’ve got no cash. What are you going to do about it? --and no jewelry (the crazy fools) But I’ve my two eyes and a smooth face and here’s this! look! it’s high! There’s brains and blood in there-- my name’s Robitza! Corsets can go to the devil-- and drawers along with them! What do I care! My two boys? --they’re keen! Let the rich lady care for them-- they’ll beat the school or let them go to the gutter-- that ends trouble. This house is empty isn’t it? Then it’s mine because I need it. Oh, I won’t starve while there’s the Bible to make them feed me. Try to help me if you want trouble or leave me alone-- that ends trouble. The county physician is a damned fool and you can go to hell! You could have closed the door when you came in; do it when you go out. I’m tired. VIRTUE Now? Why-- whirl-pools of orange and purple flame feather twists of chrome on a green ground funneling down upon the steaming phallus-head of the mad sun himself-- blackened crimson! Now? Why-- it is the smile of her the smell of her the vulgar inviting mouth of her! It is--Oh, nothing new nothing that lasts an eternity, nothing worth putting out to interest, nothing-- but the fixing of an eye concretely upon emptiness! Come! here are-- cross-eyed men, a boy with a patch, men walking in their shirts, men in hats dark men, a pale man with little black moustaches and a dirty white coat, fat men with pudgy faces, thin faces, crooked faces slit eyes, grey eyes, black eyes old men with dirty beards, men in vests with gold watch chains. Come! CONQUEST [_Dedicated to F. W._] Hard, chilly colors: straw grey, frost grey the grey of frozen ground: and you, O sun, close above the horizon! It is I holds you-- half against the sky half against a black tree trunk icily resplendent! Lie there, blue city, mine at last-- rimming the banked blue grey and rise, indescribable smoky yellow into the overpowering white! PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A BAD HEART Have I seen her? Only through the window across the street.