And In My Flower-beds, I Think, Smile

Ponder Deep Wisdom, Dark Or Clear, Each Secret Fishy Hope Or Fear. Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond? This Life Cannot Be All, They Swear, For How Unpleasant, If It Were! One May Not Doubt That, Somehow, Good Shall Come Of Water And Of Mud; And, Sure, The Reverent Eye Must See A Purpose In Liquidity.

But There's Wisdom In Women, Of More Than They Have Known, And Thoughts Go Blowing Through Them, Are Wiser Than Their Own.

The Cool Kindliness Of Sheets, That Soon Smooth Away Trouble; And The Rough Male Kiss Of Blankets.

Oh! Death Will Find Me Long Before I Tire Of Watching You.

I Have A Thousand Images Of You In An Hour; All Different And All Coming Back To The Same. I Think Of You Once Against A Sky Line: And On The Hill That Sunday Morning. The Light And The Shadow And Quietness And The Rain And The Wood. And You. Your Arms And Lips And Hair And Shoulders And Voice - You.