Eyes, what are they? Coloured glass!
Great-winged, as thirstily as an athlete

Heard you that shriek? It rose
too near: I am too clear a thing for you.

Let joy go solace-winged —
mild and slow and young.

No rack can torture me.
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!

Shuttle-cock and battle door — the heart
of a woman goes forth with the dawn.

Weeps out of Kansas country something new:
You — when your body life shall leave.

Abortions will not let you forget
Blossoming plum and cherry.

Content now the bleeding bone be swept,
do you blame me that I loved him?

. . . . .