But Fear And The Muse In Turn

Wild Honey Smells Of Freedom The Dust - Of Sunlight The Mouth Of A Young Girl, Like A Violet But Gold - Smells Of Nothing.

The Celebrations Of Secret Nonmeetings Are Empty, Unspoken Conversations, Unuttered Words. Glances That Don't Intersect Don't Know Where To Come To Rest. And Only The Tears Rejoice Because They Can Flow And Flow. Sweetbrier Around Moscow, Alas! Somehow It Is Here ... And All This They Will Call Love Eternal.

This Cruel Age Has Deflected Me.

That Was When The Ones Who Smiled Were The Dead, Glad To Be At Rest.

And This Tenderness Was Not Like That Which A Certain Poet At The Beginning Of The Century Called True And, For Some Reason, Quiet. No, Not At All— It Rang Out, Like The First Waterfall, It Crunched Like The Crust Of Bluish Ice And It Prayed With A Swanlike Voice, And It Broke Down Right Before Our Eyes.