Empty are the ways,
Empty are the ways of this land
And the flowers
Bend over with heavy heads.
They bend in vain.

Who am I to condemn you, O Dives
I who am as much embittered
With poverty
As you are with useless riches?

Kung walked
by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
and then out by the lower river,
And with him Khieu Tchi

1 his papier-mâché, which you see
Saith ’twas the worthiest of edito
Its mind was made up in 'the seven
Nor hath it ever since changed tha
It works to represent that school

FROM THE PROVENCAL O
Lady, since you care nothing for m
And since you have shut me away fr
Causelessly,
I know not wnere to go seeking,

I make a pact with you, Walt Whit
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig—headed father;
I am old enough now to make friend

I can not bow to woo thee
With honey words and flower kisses
And the dew of sweet half—truths
Fallen on the grass of old quaint
Of broidered days foredone.

A dainty thing’s the Villanelle.
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well
A doublc-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chim

Good God! They say you are risqué
O canzonetti!
We who went out into the four A.
Composing our albas,
We who shook off our dew with the

Come, my songs, let us speak of pe
We shall get ourselves rather disl
Ah yes, my songs, let us resurrect
The very excellent term Rusticus.
Let us apply it in all its opprobr