Thinking Is Not To Agree Or Disagree.

Out Alone In The Winter Rain, / Intent On Giving And Taking Pain.

I Wonder About The Trees. Why Do We Wish To Bear Forever The Noise Of These More Than Another Noise So Close To Our Dwelling Place?

The Rain To The Wind Said, You Push And I'll Pelt.' They So Smote The Garden Bed That The Flowers Actually Knelt, And Lay Lodged--though Not Dead. I Know How The Flowers Felt.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.