St. John tells how, at Cana’s wed… The water-pots poured wine in such… That by his sober count There were a hundred gallons at th… It made no earthly sense, unless t…

A ball will bounce; but less and l… A light-hearted thing, resents its… Falling is what it loves, and the… So in our hearts from brilliance, Settles and is forgot.

That flower unseen, that gem of pu… Bright thoughts uncut by men: Strange that you need but speak th… And the mind skips and dives beyon… Finding at once the wild supposed…

It is a cramped little state with… Save to be thought inoffensive. T… Has never been fathomed, owing to… Of allowing each sentence to trail… Those who have visited Scusi, the…

Sometimes, on waking, she would cl… For a last look at that white hous… In sleep alone, and held no title… And had not entered yet, for all h… What did she tell me of that house…

Dream fluently, still brothers, wh… Took with your mother’s milk the m… In which pure matrix, joining worl… You strove to leave some line of v… Like still fresh tracks across a f…

Piecemeal the summer dies; At the field’s edge a daisy lives… A last shawl of burning lies On a gray field-stone. All cries are thin and terse;

Where far in forest I am laid, In a place ringed around by stones… Look for no melancholy shade, And have no thoughts of buried bon… For I am bodiless and bright,

At the end a “The Prisoner of Zenda,” The King being out of danger, Stewart Granger (As Rudolph Rassendyll)

The eyelids meet. He’ll catch a l… The grizzled, crew-cut head drops… It shakes above the briefcase on h… Close voices breathe, “Poor sweet… “Poor sweet, poor sweet,” the bird…

A Milkweed Anonymous as cherubs Over the crib of God, White seeds are floating Out of my burst pod.

The horse beneath me seemed To know what course to steer Through the horror of snow I drea… And so I had no fear, Nor was I chilled to death

Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson, br… But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff of… II. We milk the cow of the world, and… We whisper in her ear, ‘You are n…

The tall camels of the spirit Steer for their deserts, passing t… With the sawmill shrill of the loc… arid Sun. They are slow, proud,

Seeing the snowman standing all al… In dusk and cold is more than he c… The small boy weeps to hear the wi… A night of gnashings and enormous… His tearful sight can hardly reach…