In a Station of the Metro

by Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

petals on a wet, black bough.

The Dawn Whiteness.
by Joseph Campbell

The dawn whiteness.
A bank of slate-grey cloud lying heavily over it.
The moon, like a hunted thing, dropping into the cloud.

The Pool
by H. D.

Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you—banded one?

Morning at the Window
by T. S. Eliot

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,        
And along the trampled edges of the street        
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids        
Sprouting despondently at area gates.        

The brown waves of fog toss up to me                
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,        
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts        
An aimless smile that hovers in the air        
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.

The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams

so much depends

a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white

And the Days are not Full Enough

by Ezra Pound

And the days are not full enough

And the nights are not full enough

And life slips by like a field mouse

      Not shaking the grass