Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry... When you try to pick up cherry Celia’s shriek

There is music in the strong Deep-throated bush, Whisperings of song Heard in the leaves’ hush - Ballads of the trees

Dance, little children... it is ho… Have you hung paper flowers about… Dance soft . . . but very gaily...… Spread your little pinafores And courtesy as the snow does . .…

How should they appraise you, who… Only time standing well off shall…

I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour

Your love was like moonlight turning harsh things to beauty, so that little wry souls reflecting each other obliquely as in cracked mirrors . . .

When Art goes bounding, lean, Up hill-tops fired green To pluck a rose for life. Life like a broody hen Cluck-clucks him back again.

The old men of the world have made… To warm their trembling hands. They poke the young men in. The young men burn like withes. If one run a little way,

Skyscrapers... remote, unpartisan.… Turning neither to the right nor l… Your imperturbable fronts.... Austerely greeting the sun With one chilly finger of stone...…

Snow wraiths circle us Like washers of the dead, Flapping their white wet cloths Impatiently About the grizzled head,

You can see the sandhills from our… Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes.

I THOUGHT to die that night in… But there was time ... And I lay quietly on the drawn kn… I do not know how long ... I could not count the hours, they…

When you tell mama you are going to do something grea… she looks at you as though you were a window she were trying to see through,