Tho’ I’m no Catholic I listen hard when the bells in the yellow—brick tower of their new church ring down the leaves

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go

Pour the wine bridegroom where before you the bride is enthroned her hair loose at her temples a head of ripe wheat is on

I lie here thinking of you:—— the stain of love is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow it eats into the leaves,

You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich

When the snow falls the flakes spi… that concerns them most intimately two and two to make a dance the mind dances with itself, taking you by the hand,

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

Men with picked voices chant the n… of cities in a huge gallery: promi… that pull through descending stair… to a deep rumbling. The rubbing feet

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

Little round moon up there—wait awhile—do not walk so quickly. I could sing you a song—: Wine clear the sky is and the stars no bigger than sparks! Wait for me and next winter we’ll bui...

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...

The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air ——The edge