hist      whist little ghostthings tip-toe twinkle-toe little twitchy

the wind is a Lady with bright slender eyes(who moves)at sunset and who—touches—the hills without any reason

stinging gold swarms upon the spires silver            chants the litanies the

I will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burn… I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive

Tumbling-hair               picker of buttercups … dandelions And the big bullying daisies

a connotation of infinity sharpens the temporal splendor of… when souls which have forgot frivo… in lowliness,noting the fatal flig… of worlds whereto this earth’s a h…

the bigness of cannon is skilful, but i have seen death’s clever enormous voice which hides in a fragility

If freckles were lovely, and day w… And measles were nice and a lie wa… Life would be delight,— But things couldn’t go right For in such a sad plight

here is little Effie’s head whose brains are made of gingerbre… when the judgment day comes God will find six crumbs stooping by the coffinlid

in the rain- darkness,     the sunset being sheathed i sit and think of you the holy

if learned darkness from our searc… should wrest the rare unwisdom of… and if thy hands flowers of silenc… upon a wish,to rapture should surp… my soul slowly which on thy beauty…