The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day. When The Sun Is Out And The Wind Is Still, You're One Month On In The Middle Of May. But If You So Much As Dare To Speak, A Cloud Come Over The Sunlit Arch, And Wind Comes Off A Frozen Peak, And You're Two Months Back In The Middle Of March.

The Land Was Ours Before We Were The Land's. She Was Our Land More Than A Hundred Years Before We Were Her People.

Something Sinister In The Tone Told Me My Secret Must Be Known: Word I Was In The House Alone Somehow Must Have Gotten Abroad, Word I Was In My Life Alone, Word I Had No One Left But God.

We're Either Nothing Or A God's Regret.

The World Is Full Of Willing People; Some Willing To Work, The Rest Willing To Let Them.