(The poem shows the Master, wi… I heard Immanuel singing Within his own good lands, I saw him bend above his harp. I watched his wandering hands

Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated.

Let not young souls be smothered o… They do quaint deeds and fully fla… It is the world’s one crime its ba… Its poor are ox-like, limp and lea… Not that they starve; but starve s…

To be intoned, all but the two… Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables,

When I see a young tree In its white beginning, With white leaves And white buds Barely tipped with green,

Girl with the burning golden eyes, And red-bird song, and snowy throa… I bring you gold and silver moons And diamond stars, and mists that… I bring you moons and snowy clouds…

She was taught desire in the stree… Not at the angels’ feet. By the good no word was said Of the worth of the bridal bed. The secret was learned from the vi…

Sweetheart Spring Our Sweetheart, Spring, came soft… Her gliding hands were fire, Her lilac breath upon our cheeks Consumed us with desire.

Within the town of Buffalo Are prosy men with leaden eyes. Like ants they worry to and fro, (Important men, in Buffalo.) But only twenty miles away

A chant to which it is intended a… A master deep-eyed Ere his manhood was ripe, He sang like a thrush, He could play any pipe.

(A Poem Game.) The King of Yellow Butterflies, The King of Yellow Butterflies, The King of Yellow Butterflies, Now orders forth his men.

I. THE VOICE OF THE… We find your soft Utopias as whit… As new-cut bread, and dull as life… O, scribes who dare forget how wil… How human breasts adore alarum bel…

I look on the specious electrical… Blatant, mechanical, crawling and… Wickedly red or malignantly green Like the beads of a young Senegam… Showing, while millions of souls h…

No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget.

(What the Mendicant Said ) The moon’s a monk, unmated, Who walks his cell, the sky. His strength is that of heaven-vow… Who all life’s flames defy.