Love is twain, it is not single, Gold and silver mixed to one, Passion '€˜tis and pain which ming… Glist’ring then for aye undone. Pain it is not; wondering pity

It is a willow when summer is over… a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson.

The green-blue ground is ruled with silver lines to say the sun is shining And on this moral sea of grass or dreams lie flowers

A three-day-long rain from the eas… an terminable talking, talking of no consequence—patter, patter,… Hand in hand little winds blow the thin streams aslant.

"Sweet land" at last! out of sea— the Venusremembering wavelets rippling with laughter—

By constantly tormenting them with reminders of the lice in their children’s hair, the School Physician first brought their hatred down on him.

Disciplined by the artist to go round and round in holiday gear a riotously gay rabble of

And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks… her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn

SORROW is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire

Fools have big wombs. For the rest?—here is pennyroyal if one knows to use it. But time is only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there’l...

You say love is this, love is that… Poplar tassels, willow tendrils the wind and the rain comb, tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip— branches drifting apart. Hagh!

While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on

Trundled from the strangeness of the sea —— a kind of heaven —— Ladies and Gentlemen!