How Loud Clocks Can Tick When A

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin

You Are Ice And Fire The Touch Of You Burns My Hands Like Snow.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

To-night When The Full-bellied Moon Swallows The Stars. Grant That I Know.

I Must Be Mad, Or Very Tired, When The Curve Of A Blue Bay Beyond A Railroad Track Is Shrill And Sweet To Me Like The Sudden Springing Of A Tune, And The Sight Of A White Church Above Thin Trees In A City Square Amazes My Eyes As Though It Were The Parthenon.