She Whom I Love Is Hard To

I Know Him, February's Thrush, And Loud At Eve He Valentines On Sprays That Paw The Naked Bush Where Soon Will Sprout The Thorns And Bines.

Lowly, With A Broken Neck, The Crocus Lays Her Cheek To Mire.

A Kiss Is But A Kiss Now! And No Wave Of A Great Flood That Whirls Me To The Sea. But, As You Will! We'll Sit Contentedly, And Eat Our Pot Of Honey On The Grave.

Chance Works For Us When We Are Good Captains.

Earth Knows No Desolation. She Smells Regeneration In The Moist Breath Of Decay.