Snow is a strange white word. No ice or frost Has asked of bud or bird For Winter’s cost. Yet ice and frost and snow

Moses, from whose loins I sprung, Lit by a lamp in his blood Ten immutable rules, a moon For mutable lampless men. The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy,

I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow… The flake-blossoms thickly fall

I mingle with your bones: You steal in subtle noose This lighted dust .Jehovah loans And now I lose. What will the Lender say

The darkness crumbles away It is the same old druid Time as… Only a live thing leaps my hand, A queer sardonic rat, As I pull the parapet’s poppy

In his malodorous brain what slugs… Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, gu… His body lodged a rat where men nu… The world flashed grape-green eyes… To him. On fragments of an old sh…

I have lived in the underworld so… How can you, a creature of light, Without terror understand the song And unmoved hear what moves in nig… I am a spirit that yours has found…

You are so light and gay, So slight, sweet maid– Your limbs like leaves in play, Or beams that grasses braid: O! Joys whose jewels pray

The free fair life that has never… If I were what you seem to be and… I know I walk upon the earth, but… My spirit and your spirit lies, yo… The angels that lie watching us, t…

Space beats the ruddy freedom of t… Their naked dances with man’s spir… By the root side of the tree of li… (The under side of things And shut from earth’s profoundest…

Grotesque and queerly huddled Contortionists to twist The sleepy soul to a sleep, We lie all sorts of ways And cannot sleep.

A little breath can make a prayer, A little wind can take it And turn it back again to air: Then say, why should you make it? An ardent thought can make a word,

As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride,

What if you shut your eyes and loo… Yea, look with all the spirit’s ey… While mystic unrevealed skies Unfold like pages of a book Wherein new scenes of wonder rare

A silver rose to show Is your sweet face; And like the heavens’ white brow, Sometime God’s battle-place, Your blood is quiet now.