These days which, like yourself, Seem empty and effaced Have avid roots that delve To work deep in the waste.

I thought I would do over All of it. I was tired Of scars and stains, of bleared Panes, tinge of the liver. The fuchsia in the center

“There lay the peninsula stretc… mosque, its cypress tufts and fort… far and wide along the water’s edg… closing scene of the history of th… —Edward Lear

A card table in the library stands… To receive the puzzle which keeps… Daylight shines in or lamplight do… Upon the tense oasis of green felt… Full of unfulfillment, life goes o…

Crossing the street, I saw the parents and the child At their window, gleaming like fru… With evening’s mild gold leaf. In a room on the floor below,

Presently at our touch the teacup… Then circled lazily about From A to Z. The first voice hea… (If they are voices, these mute sp… Was that of an engineer

Out for a walk, after a week in be… I find them tearing up part of my… And, chilled through, dazed and lo… In meek attitudes, watching a huge… Fumble luxuriously in the filth of…

Then when the flame forked like a… I gasped and stumbled, and was les… Density pulsing upward, gauze of a… Dear light along the way to nothin… What could be made of you but ligh…

I peered into the crater’s heaving… And quailed. I called upon the Mu… “The day I cease to serve you, le… And woke alone to birdsong, in our… The flame was sinewed like those a…

The panes flash, tremble with your… Through them, an x-ray sheerness b… But cannot speak, remembering only… To rise and not to speak. Young s… Let our eye darken, your rain come…