I love to toy with the Platonic notion That wisdom need not be of Athens Attic… But well may be Laconic, even Boeotian. At least I will not have it systematic.

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs Before she saw him. She was starting d… Looking back over her shoulder at some f… She took a doubtful step and then undid… To raise herself and look again. He sp…

Roll stones down on our head! You squat old pyramid, Your last good avalanche Was long since slid. Your top has sunk too low,

For Lincoln MacVeagh Never tell me that not one star of all That slip from heaven at night and softl… Has been picked up with stones to build… Some laborer found one faded and stone-c…

He is that fallen lance that lies as hur… That lies unlifted now, come dew, come r… But still lies pointed as it ploughed th… If we who sight along it round the world… See nothing worthy to have been its mark…

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth— Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right,

I stole forth dimly in the dripping paus… Between two downpours to see what there… And a masked moon had spread down compas… To a cone mountain in the midnight haze, As if the final estimate were hers,

Here further up the mountain slope Than there was every any hope, My father built, enclosed a spring, Strung chains of wall round everything, Subdued the growth of earth to grass,

It took that pause to make him realize The mountain he was climbing had the sla… As of a book held up before his eyes (And was a text albeit done in plant). Dwarf cornel, gold-thread, and maianthem…

YOU come to fetch me from my work to-ni… When supper’s on the table, and we’ll se… If I can leave off burying the white Soft petals fallen from the apple tree. (Soft petals, yes, but not so barren qui…

Some of you will be glad I did what I d… And the rest won’t want to punish me too… For finding a thing to do that though no… Yet wasn’t enjoined and wasn’t expected… To punish me over cruelly wouldn’t be ri…

The swinging mill bell changed its rate To tolling like the count of fate, And though at that the tardy ran, One failed to make the closing gate. There was a law of God or man

A dented spider like a snow drop white On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of lifeless satin clo… Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight?… Portent in little, assorted death and bl…