You lethargic, waiting upon me,waiting for the fire and Iattendant upon you, shaken by your beautyShaken by your beauty Shaken.

It is at the edge of the petal that love waits

The business of love is cruelty which,by our wills, we transform to live together.

Vast and grey, the skyis a simulacrumto all but him whose daysare vast and grey, and―In the tall, dried grassesa goat stirswith nozzle searching the ground.―my head is in the airbut who am I . . ?And amazed my heart leaps at the thought of lovevast and greyyearning silently over me.

The Wind IncreasesThe harried earth is swept; the trees;the tulip's bright tips sidle and toss -Loose your love to flow - Blow!Good Christ, what is a poet - if any exists?A man whose words will bite their way home - being actual, having the form of motion at each twigtip upon the tortured body of thought; gripping the ground a way to the last leaftip.