In silence and in darkness memory wakes Her million sheath'd buds, and breaks That day-long winter when the light and noise And hard bleak breath of the outward-looking will...
A month or twain to live on honeycomb Is pleasant, but to eat it for a year Is simply beastly. Thus the poet spake, Feeling how sticky all his stomach was With hivings of ten thousand cheated bees....
My heart is like a meadow, Where clouds go over, Dappling the mingled grass and clover With mingled sun and shadow, With light that will not stay And shade that sails away. ...
Along the branches of the laden tree The ripe fruit smiling hang. The afternoon Is emptied of all things done and things to be. Low in the sky the inconspicuous moon...
Perhaps you sleep now, fifty miles to the south, While I sit here and dream of you by night. The thick soft blankets drawn about your mouth Have made for you a nest of warm delight;...