The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

We wear the mask that grins and li
It shades our cheeks and hides our
This debt we pay to human guile
With torn and bleeding hearts…
We smile and mouth the myriad subt

There are similarities
I notice: that the hills
which the eyes make flat as a wall
together, open as I move
to let me through; become

To step over the low wall that div
Road from concrete walk above the
Brings sharply back something know
The miniature gaiety of seasides.
Everything crowds under the low ho

Go to Tibet.
Ride a camel.
Read the Bible.
Dye your shoes blue.
Grow a Beard.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

WHAT guile is this, that those h
She doth attire under a net of gol
And with sly skill so cunningly th
That which is gold, or hair, may s
Is it that men’s frail eyes, which

The earth was green, the sky was b
I saw and heard one sunny morn,
A skylark hang between the two,
A singing speck above the corn;
A stage below, in gay accord,

Let me tell you a little story
About Miss Edith Gee;
She lived in Clevedon Terrace
At number 83.
She’d a slight squint in her left

Up, black, striped and demasked li
At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tai
Paraded the skunk. Night after ni
I expected her like a visitor.The
My desk light softened beyond the

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

My man is Black Golden Amber Cha
Warm mouths of Brandy Fine
Cautious sunlight on a patterned r
Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi
Graceful turns on woolen stilts S

No speed of wind or water rushing
But you have speed far greater. Y
Back up a stream of radiance to th
And back through history up the st
And you were given this swiftness,

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.
Some declare their lives are lived

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering

It seemed an unlikely match. All
grinding its teeth in a plastic sl
nose-down from a hook in the darkr
under the hatch in the floor. When
it knocked back a quarter-pint of

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye

On the grass when I arrive,
Filling the stillness with life,
But ready to scare off
At the very first wrong move.
In the ivy when I leave.

If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.
Going to church
Would entail a fording

Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.

Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently
As if they were stretched outside
The Oval or Villa Park,
The crowns of hats, the sun

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun

On a summer morning
I sat down
on a hillside
to think about God –
a worthy pastime.

We sit indoors and talk of the col
And every gust that gathers streng
Is a threat to the house. But the
We think of the tree. If it never
We’ll know, we say, that this was

My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms,
Quiet and small and just astir
And whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son, our instru

Many authorities on bird life had
It was a remarkably fine phoenix,
It costs a great deal of money to
For quite a while Mr. Poldero con
But then business slackened. The

This book by any yet unread,
I leave for you when I am dead,
That being gone, here you may find
What was your living mother's mind
Make use of what I leave in Love

I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief
Is it that they are born again