Morning, a glass door, flashes
Gold names off the new city,
Whose white shelves and domes trav
The slow sky all day.
I land to stay here;

My mother, who hates thunder storm
Holds up each summer day and shake
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape—dark clouds are lurking t
But when the August weather break

Lonely in Ireland, since it was n
Strangeness made sense. The salt
Insisting so on difference, made m
Once that was recognised, we were
Their draughty streets, end—on to

Obedient daily dress,
You cannot always keep
That unfakable young surface.
You must learn your lines —
Anger, amusement, sleep;

The wind blew all my wedding—day,
And my wedding—night was the night
And a stable door was banging, aga
That he must go and shut it, leavi
Stupid in candlelight, hearing rai

Thinking in terms of one
Is easily done—
One room, one bed, one chair,
One person there,
Makes perfect sense; one set

The cloakroom pegs are empty now,
And locked the classroom door,
The hollow desks are lined with du
And slow across the floor
A sunbeam creeps between the chair

Is it for now or for always,
The world hangs on a stalk?
Is it a trick or a trysting—place,
The woods we have found to walk?
Is it a mirage or miracle,

Once I am sure there’s nothing go
I step inside, letting the door th
Another church: matting, seats, an
And little books; sprawlings of fl
For Sunday, brownish now; some br

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,