The world begins again! Not wholly insufflated the blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches of the living tree,

I bought a dish mop— having no daughter— for they had twisted fine ribbons of shining copper about white twine

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Which sky? The sky where Watteau hung a lady’s slipper. Your knees

The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls

By the road to the contagious hosp… under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields

Vast and grey, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and grey and— In the tall, dried grasses

The coroner’s merry little childre… Have such twinkling brown eyes. Their father is not of gay men And their mother jocular in no wis… Yet the coroner’s merry little chi…

It is cold. The white moon is up among her scattered stars— like the bare thighs of the Police Sergeant’s wife—among her five children . . .

The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!

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

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

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