Hate in the world’s hand Can carve and set its seal Like the strong blast of sand Which cuts into steel. I have seen how the finger of hate

The rain’s cold grains are silver-… Sharp as golden sands, A bell is clanging, people sway Hanging by their hands. Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff…

When foxes eat the last gold grape… And the last white antelope is kil… I shall stop fighting and escape Into a little house I’ll build. But first I’ll shrink to fairy si…

It is not heaven: bitter seed Leavens its entrails with despair It is a star where dragons breed: Devils have a footing there. The sky has bent it out of shape;

The icicles wreathing On trees in festoon Swing, swayed to our breathing: They’re made of the moon. She’s a pale, waxen taper;

All that I dream By day or night Lives in that stream Of lovely light. Here is the earth,

First Traveller: What’s that lyin… Second Traveller: A crooked stick… First Traveller: What’s it worth,… Second Traveller: Isn’t this a ri… First Traveller: No, a trick.

This is the bricklayer; hear the t… Of his heavy load dumped down on s… His lustrous bricks are brighter t… His smoking mortar whiter than bon… Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten…

For a picture This Pekingese, that makes the sa… Is digging little tunnels to Peki… Dream him emerging in a porcelain… Where wounded dragons stain a pear…

I shall die hidden in a hut In the middle of an alder wood, With the back door blind and bolte… And the front door locked for good… I shall lie folded like a saint,

When the world turns completely up… You say we’ll emigrate to the Eas… Aboard a river-boat from Baltimor… We’ll live among wild peach trees,… You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I…

Man, the egregious egoist (In mystery the twig is bent) Imagines, by some mental twist, That he alone is sentient Of the intolerable load

Liza, go steep your long white han… In the cool waters of that spring Which bubbles up through shiny san… The colour of a wild-dove’s wing. Dabble your hands, and steep them…

I saw a Tiger’s golden flank, I saw what food he ate, By a desert spring he drank; The Tiger’s name was Hate. Then I saw a placid Lamb

Why should this Negro insolently… Down the red noonday on such noise… Piled in his barrow, tawnier than… Lie heaps of smouldering daisies,… Their copper petals shriveled up w…