First Things First Woken, I lay in the arms of my ow… To a storm enjoying its storminess… Till my ear, as it can when half-a… Set to work to unscramble that int…

Some thirty inches from my nose The frontier of my Person goes, And all the untilled air between Is private pagus or demesne. Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes

Poet, oracle and wit Like unsuccessful anglers by Th ponds of apperception sit, Baiting with the wrong request The vectors of their interest;

Now through night’s caressing grip Earth and all her oceans slip, Capes of China slide away From her fingers into day And th’Americas incline

Again in conversations Speaking of fear And throwing off reserve The voice is nearer But no clearer

Clocks cannot tell our time of day For what event to pray Because we have no time, because We have no time until We know what time we fill,

Taller to-day, we remember similar… Walking together in a windless orc… Where the brook runs over the grav… Nights come bringing the snow, and… Under headlands in their windy dwe…

Deftly, admiral, cast your fly Into the slow deep hover, Till the wise old trout mistake an… Salt are the deeps that cover The glittering fleets you led,