The music trembled with an inward thrill
As if a lark should suddenly drop dead
And roll their white surf higher every day.
What gnarled stretch...... is his!
My pictures.......
Smoothed down their knotted fronts and
Grew
As rosy as excisemen;
Some sort of heart I know is hers-
I chanced to feel her pulse one night.
I suck the last drop of the sky;
The quickening out-door influences
Of noiseless snow
We too have autumns
Are we then wholly fallen?
The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang
The happy camels may reach the spring
Beyond a crater in each eye
There is no English void.
With such large range as from the ale-house bench
We left her
With a drippingly hurried adieu
The electric nerve, whose instantaneous thrill
Makes next-door gossips of the antipodes.
THE WIVES OF THE POETS
Anna who was fat,
Jane who was thin, Beatrice was also thin,
Just as Iris was slender.
Petulant Doris, Susie;
Jane descended elegantly.
Leslie ate with her mouth full,
Both Leslie and Claire ate with their mouths open,
Maggie seen with another man
Sheila's tummy, arms and legs,
