The poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople -it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootof- minusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs. Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most- people? Catastrophe unmitigated. Socialrevolution. The cultured aristocrat yanked out of his hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous super- palazzo,and dumped into an incredibly vulgar detentioncamp swarming with every conceivable species of undesireable organism. Mostpeople fancy a garanteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness. If mostpeople were to be born twice they'd improbably call it dying- you and i are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing:the mystery which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves. you and i wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now;and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included. Life,for mostpeople,simply isn't. Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has suc- ceeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal. Mostpeople's wives can spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omni- potence immediately and will accept no subsitutes. -luckily for us,a mountain is a mammal....
On the assumption that my technique is either complicated or original or both,the publishers have politely requested me to write an introduction to this book. At least my theory of technique,if I have one,is very far from original;nor is it complicated. I can express it in fifteen words,by quoting The Eternal Question And Immortal Answer of burlesk,viz. "Would you hit a woman with a child?-No,I'd hit her with a brick." Like the burlesk comedian,I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement. If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little-somebody who is obsessed by Making. Like all obsessions,the Making obsession has disadvantages;for instance,my only interest in making money would be to make it. Fortunately,however,I should prefer to make almost anything else,including locomotives and roses. It is with roses and locomotives(not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls)that my "poems" are competing. They are also competing with each other,with elephants,and with El Greco. Ineluctable preoccupation with The Verb gives a poet one priceless advantage:whereas nonmakers must content themselves with the merely undeniable fact that two times two is four,he rejoices in a purely irresistable truth(to be found,in abbreviated costume,upon the title page of the present volume).
2 little whos (he and she) under are this wonderful tree smiling stand (all realms of where and when beyond) now and here (far from a grown -up i&you-;ful world of known) who and who (2 little ams and over them this aflame with dreams incredible is)
a- float on some ? i call twilight you 'll see an in -ch of an if & who is the ) more dream than become more am than imagine
a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon (where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred) my mirror gives me,on this afternoon; i am a shape that can but eat and turd ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird, a coward waiting clumsily to cease whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss; a hand's impression in an empty glove, a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease. I have never loved you dear as now i love behold this fool who,in the month of June, having certain stars and planets heard, rose very slowly in a tight balloon until the smallening world became absurd; him did an archer spy(whose aim had erred never)and by that little trick or this he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss -and wonderfully i fell through the green groove of twilight,striking into many a piece. I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon, collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon) resembles something that has not occurred: i am a birdcage without any bird, a collar looking for a dog,a kiss without lips;a prayer lacking any knees but something beats within my shirt to prove he is undead who,living,noone is. I have never loved you dear as now i love. Hell(by most humble me which shall increase) open thy fire!for i have had some bliss of one small lady upon earth above; to whom i cry,remembering her face, i have never loved you dear as now i love
all ignorance toboggans into know and trudges up to ignorance again: but winter's not forever,even snow melts;and if spring should spoil the game, what then? all history's a winter sport or three: but were it five,i'd still insist that all history is too small for even me; for me and you,exceedingly too small. Swoop(shrill colective myth)into thy grave merely to toil the scale to shrillerness per every madge and mabel dick and dave --tomorrow is our permanent address and there they'll scarcely find us(if they do, we'll move away still further:into now
All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the merry deer ran before. Fleeter be they than dappled dreams the swift sweet deer the red rare deer. Four red roebucks at a white water the cruel bugle sang before. Horn at hip went my love riding riding the echo down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the level meadows ran before. Softer be they than slippered sleep the lean lithe deer the fleet flown deer. Four fleet does at a gold valley the famished arrow sang before. Bow at belt went my love riding riding the mountain down into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling the sheer peaks ran before. Paler be they than daunting death the sleek slim deer the tall tense deer. Four tall stags at a green mountain the lucky hunter sang before. All in green went my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn. four lean hounds crouched low and smiling my heart fell dead before.
all which isn't singing is mere talking and all talking's talking to oneself (whether that oneself be sought or seeking master or disciple sheep or wolf) gush to it as diety or devil -toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles name it cruel fair or blessed evil- it is you (ne i)nobody else drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing -you are deafened every mother's son- all is merely talk which isn't singing and all talking's to oneself alone but the very song of(as mountains feel and lovers)singing is silence
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
a politicain is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man
applaws) "fell ow sit isn'ts" (a paw s
a salesman is an it that stinks Excuse Me whether it's president of the you were say or a jennelman name misder finger isn't important whether it's millions of other punks or just a handful absolutely doesn't matter and whether it's in lonjewray or shrouds is immaterial it stinks a salesman is an it that stinks to please but whether to please itself or someone else makes no more difference than if it sells hate condoms education snakeoil vac uumcleaners terror strawberries democ ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair or Think We've Met subhuman rights Before
of all the blessings which to man kind progress doth impart one stands supreme i mean the an imal without a heart. Huge this collective pseudobeast (sans either pain or joy) does nothing except preexist its hoi in its polloi and if sometimes he's prodded forth to exercise her vote (or made by threats of somethings worth than death to change their coat -which something as you'll never guess in fifty thousand years equals the quote and unquote loss of liberty my dears- or even is compelled to fight itself from tame to teem) still doth our hero contemplate in raptures of undream that strictly(and how)scienti fic land of supernod where freedom is compulsory and only man is god. Without a heart the animal is very very kind so kind it wouldn't like a soul and couldn't use a mind
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Buffalo Bill 's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death
dead every enourmous piece of nonsense which itself must call a state submicroscopic is- compared with pitying terrible some alive individual ten centuries of original soon or make it ten times ten are more than not entitled to complain -plunged in eternal now if who're by the five nevers of a lear
dying is fine)but Death ?o baby i wouldn't like Death if Death were good:for when(instead of stopping to think)you begin to feel of it,dying 's miraculous why?be cause dying is perfectly natural;perfectly putting it mildly lively(but Death is strictly scientific & artificial & evil & legal) we thank thee god almighty for dying (forgive us,o life!the sin of Death
enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh is singing)silence:but unsinging. In spectral such hugest how hush,one dead leaf stirring makes a crash -far away(as far as alive)lies april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some perpetually roaming whylessness- autumn has gone:will winter never come? o come,terrible anonymity;enfold phantom me with the murdering minus of cold -open this ghost with millionary knives of wind- scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and gently (very whiteness:absolute peace, never imaginable mystery) descend
here is little Effie's head whose brains are made of gingerbread when judgment day comes God will find six crumbs stooping by the coffinlid waiting for something to rise as the other somethings did- you imagine his surprise bellowing through the general noise Where is Effie who was dead? -to God in a tiny voice, i am may the first crumb said whereupon its fellow five crumbs chuckled as if they were alive and number two took up the song might i'm called and did no wrong cried the third crumb, i am should and this is my little sister could with our big brother who is would don't punish us for we were good; and the last crumb with some shame whispered unto God, my name is must and with the others i've been Effie who isn't alive just imagine it I say God amid a monstrous din watch your step and follow me stooping by Effie's little, in (want a match or can you see?) which the six subjective crumbs twitch like mutilated thumbs; picture His peering biggest whey coloured face on which a frown puzzles, but I know the way- (nervously Whose eyes approve the blessed while His ears are crammed with the strenuous music of the innumerable capering damned) -staring wildly up and down the here we are now judgment day cross the threshold have no dread lift the sheet back in this way here is little Effie's head whose brains are made of gingerbread
as freedom is a breakfastfood or truth can live with right and wrong or molehills are from mountains made -long enough and just so long will being pay the rent of seem and genius please the talentgang and water most encourage flame as hatracks into peachtrees grow or hopes dance best on bald men's hair and every finger is a toe and any courage is a fear -long enough and just so long will the impure think all things pure and hornets wail by children stung or as the seeing are the blind and robins never welcome spring nor flatfolk prove their world is round nor dingsters die at break of dong and common's rare and millstones float -long enough and just so long tomorrow will not be too late worms are the words but joy's the voice down shall go which and up come who breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs deeds cannot dream what dreams can do -time is a tree (this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough
hate blows a bubble of despair into hugeness world system universe and bang -fear buries a tomorrow under woe and up comes yesterday most green and young pleasure and pain are merely surfaces (one itself showing,itself hiding one) life's only and true value neither is love makes the little thickness of the coin comes here a man would have from madame death nevertheless now and without winter spring? she'll spin that spirit her own fingers with and give him nothing (if he should not sing) how much more than enough for both of us darling. And if i sing you are my voice,
Humanity i love you because you would rather black the boots of success than enquire whose soul dangles from his watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all songs containing the words country home and mother when sung at the old howard Humanity i love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink and when you're flush pride keeps you from the pawn shop and because you are continually committing nuisances but more especially in your own house Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you
i have found what you are like the rain, (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike the air in utterable coolness deeds of green thrilling light with thinned newfragile yellows lurch -in the woods which stutter and sing And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost, your kiss
i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh . . . . And big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill of under me you quite so new
if i have made,my lady,intricate imperfect various things chiefly which wrong your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail) songs less firm than your body's whitest song upon my mind-if i have failed to snare the glance too shy-if through my singing slips the very skillful strangeness of your smile the keen primeval silence of your hair -let the world say "his most wise music stole nothing from death"- you only will create (who are so perfectly alive)my shame: lady through whose profound and fragile lips the sweet small clumsy feet of April came into the ragged meadow of my soul.
in spite of everything which breathes and moves,since Doom (with white longest hands neatening each crease) will smooth entirely our minds -before leaving my room i turn,and(stooping through the morning)kiss this pillow,dear where our heads lived and were.
it is at moments after i have dreamed of the rare entertainment of your eyes, when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise; at moments when the glassy darkness holds the genuine apparition of your smile (it was through tears always)and silence moulds such strangeness as was mine a little while; moments when my once more illustrious arms are filled with fascination, when my breast wears the intolerant brightness of your charms: one pierced moment whiter than the rest -turning from the tremendous lie of sleep i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
it may not always be so;and i say that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart,as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know,or such great writhing words as,uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be,i say if this should be- you of my heart,send me a little word; that i may go unto him,and take his hands, saying,Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
kumrads die because they're told) kumrads die before they're old (kumrads aren't afraid to die kumrads don't and kumrads won't believe in life) and death knows whie (all good kumrads you can tell by their altruistic smell moscow pipes good kumrads dance) kumrads enjoy s.freud knows whoy the hope that you may mess your pance every kumrad is a bit of quite unmitigated hate (travelling in a futile groove god knows why) and so do i (because they are afraid to love
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it's sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there's never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile
may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let's go said he not too far said she what's too far said he where you are said she) may i stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may i move said he is it love said she) if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she but it's life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don't stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome?said he ummm said she) you're divine!said he (you are Mine said she)
Me up at does out of the floor quietly Stare a poisoned mouse still who alive is asking What have i done that You wouldn't have
in a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes people are in real:imagine somewhere real flowers,but I can't imagine real flowers for if I could,they would somehow not Be real" (so he smiles smiling)"but I will not everywhere be real to you in a moment" The is blond with small hands "& everything is easier than I had guessed everything would be;even remembering the way who looked at whom first,anyhow dancing" (a moon swims out of a cloud a clock strikes midnight a finger pulls a trigger a bird flies into a mirror)
if you like my poems let them walk in the evening,a little behind you then people will say "Along this road i saw a princess pass on her way to meet her lover(it was toward nightfall)with tall and ignorant servants."
i sing of Olaf glad and big whose warmest heart recoiled at war: a conscientious object-or his wellbelovéd colonel (trig westpointer most succinctly bred) took erring Olaf soon in hand; but-though an host of overjoyed noncoms (first knocking on the head him) do through icy waters roll that helplessness which others stroke with brushes recently employed anent this muddy toiletbowl, while kindred intellects evoke allegiance per blunt instruments- Olaf (being to all intents a corpse and wanting any rag upon what God unto him gave) responds, without getting annoyed "I will not kiss your fucking flag" straightaway the silver bird looked grave (departing hurriedly to shave) but-though all kinds of officers (a yearning nation's blueeyed pride) their passive prey did kick and curse until for wear their clarion voices and boots were much the worse, and egged the firstclassprivates on his rectum wickedly to tease by means of skillfully applied bayonets roasted hot with heat- Olaf (upon what were once knees) does almost ceaselessly repeat "there is some shit I will not eat" our president,being of which assertions duly notified threw the yellowsonofabitch into a dungeon,where he died Christ (of His mercy infinite) i pray to see;and Olaf,too preponderatingly because unless statistics lie he was more brave than me:more blond than you
(once like a spark) if strangers meet life begins- not poor not rich (only aware) kind neither nor cruel (only complete) i not not you not possible; only truthful -truthfully,once if strangers(who deep our most are selves)touch: forever (and so to dark)
proud of his scientific attitude and liked the prince of wales wife wants to die but the doctors won't let her comman considers frood whom he pronounces young mistaken and cradles in rubbery one somewhat hand the paper destinies of nations sic item a bounceless period unshy the empty house is full O Yes of guk rooms daughter item son a woopsing queer colon hobby photography never has plumbed the heights of prowst but respects artists if they are sincere proud of his scientif ic attitude and liked the king of)hear ye!the godless are the dull and the dull are the damned
O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient philosophers pinched and poked thee ,has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty .how often have religions taken thee upon their scraggy knees squeezing and buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive gods (but true to the incomparable couch of death thy rhythmic lover thou answerest them only with spring)
who sharpens every dull here comes the only man reminding with his bell to disappear a sun and out of houses pour maids mothers widows wives bringing this visitor their very oldest lives one pays him with a smile another with a tear some cannot pay at all he never seems to care he sharpens is to am he sharpens say to sing you'd almost cut your thumb so right he sharpens wrong and when their lives are keen he throws the world a kiss and slings his wheel upon his back and off he goes but we can hear him still if now our sun is gone reminding with his bell to reappear a moon
speaking of love(of which Who knows the meaning;or how dreaming becomes if your heart's mind)i guess a grassblade Thinks beyond or around(as poems are made)Our picking it. this caress that laugh both quickly signify life's only half(through deep weather then or none let's feel all)mind in mind flesh In flesh succeeding disappear
silence .is a looking bird:the turn ing;edge,of life (inquiry before snow
the boys i mean are not refined they go with girls who buck and bite they do not give a fuck for luck they hump them thirteen times a night one hangs a hat upon her tit one carves a cross on her behind they do not give a shit for wit the boys i mean are not refined they come with girls who bite and buck who cannot read and cannot write who laugh like they would fall apart and masturbate with dynamite the boys i mean are not refined they cannot chat of that and this they do not give a fart for art they kill like you would take a piss they speak whatever's on their mind they do whatever's in their pants the boys i mean are not refined they shake the mountains when they dance
up into the silence the green silence with a white earth in it you will (kiss me) go out into the morning the young morning with a warm world in it (kiss me) you will go on into the sunlight the fine sunlight with a firm day in it you will go (kiss me down into your memory and a memory and memory i) kiss me (will go)
this(let's remember)day died again and again;whose golden,crimson dooms conceive an oceaning abyss of orange dream larger than sky times earth:a flame beyond soul immemorially forevering am- and as collapsing that grey mind by wave doom disappeared,out of perhaps(who knows?) eternity floated a blossoming (while anyone might slowly count to soon) rose-did you see her?darling,did you(kiss me)quickly count to never?you were wrong -then all the way from perfect nowhere came (as easily as we forget something) livingest the imaginable moon
this is the garden: colours come and go, frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing strong silent greens serenely lingering, absolute lights like baths of golden snow. This is the garden: pursed lips do blow upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing (of harps celestial to the quivering string) invisible faces hauntingly and slow. This is the garden. Time shall surely reap and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled, in other lands where other songs be sung; yet stand They here enraptured, as among The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.
what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer's lie; bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry? Blow king to beggar and queen to seem (blow friend to fiend:blow space to time) -when skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man what if a keen of a lean wind flays screaming hills with sleet and snow: strangles valleys by ropes of thing and stifles forests in white ago? Blow hope to terror;blow seeing to blind (blow pity to envy and soul to mind) -whose hearts are mountains,roots are trees, it's they shall cry hello to the spring what if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave and sprinkles nowhere with me and you? Blow soon to never and never to twice (blow life to isn't:blow death to was) -all nothing's only our hugest home; the most who die,the more we live
)when what hugs stopping earth than silent is more silent than more than much more is or total sun oceaning than any this tear jumping from each most least eye of star and without was if minus and shall be immeasurable happenless unnow shuts more than open could that every tree or than all life more death begins to grow end's ending then these dolls of joy and grief these recent memories of future dream these perhaps who have lost their shadows if which did not do the losing spectres mime until out of merely not nothing comes only one snowflake(and we speak our names
when hair falls off and eyes blur And thighs forget(when clocks whisper and night shouts)When minds shrivel and hearts grow brittler every Instant(when of a morning Memory stands, with clumsily wilted fingers emptying youth colour and what was into a dirtied glass)Pills for Ills (a recipe against Laughing Virginity Death) then dearest the way trees are made leaves open Clouds take sun mountains stand And oceans do Not sleep matters nothing;then(then the only hands so to speak are they always which creep budgingly over some numbered face capable of a largest nonglance the least unsmile or whatever weeds feel and fish think of)
you shall above all things be glad and young For if you're young,whatever life you wear it will become you;and if you are glad whatever's living will yourself become. Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need: i can entirely her only love whose any mystery makes every man's flesh put space on;and his mind take off time that you should ever think,may god forbid and (in his mercy) your true lover spare: for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave called progress,and negation's dead undoom. I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
Jehovah buried,Satan dead, do fearers worship Much and Quick; badness not being felt as bad, itself thinks goodness what is meek; obey says toc,submit says tic, Eternity's a Five Year Plan: if Joy with Pain shall hand in hock who dares to call himself a man? go dreamless knaves on Shadows fed, your Harry's Tom,your Tom is Dick; while Gadgets murder squack and add, the cult of Same is all the chic; by instruments,both span and spic, are justly measured Spic and Span: to kiss the mike if Jew turn kike who dares to call himself a man? loudly for Truth have liars pled,click; where Boobs are holy,poets mad, illustrious punks of Progress shriek; when Souls are outlawed,Hearts are sick, Hearts being sick,Minds nothing can: if Hate's a game and Love's a /phi/ /upsilon/ /chi/ who dares to call himself a man? King Christ,this world is all aleak; and lifepreservers there are none: and waves which only He may walk Who dares to call Himself a man. Note: the last word of line 23 is the three Greek letter indicated
"next to of course god america i love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh say can you see by the dawn's early my country tis of centuries come and go and are no more what of it we should worry in every language even deafanddumb thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry by jingo by gee by gosh by gum why talk of beauty what could be more beaut- iful than these heroic happy dead who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter they did not stop to think they died instead then shall the voice of liberty be mute?" He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water
i shall imagine life is not worth dying,if (and when)roses complain their beauties are in vain but though mankind persuades itself that every weed's a rose,roses(you feel certain)will only smile
l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness
i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything wich is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginably You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
your little voice Over the wires came leaping and i felt suddenly dizzy With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers wee skipping high-heeled flames courtesied before my eyes or twinkling over to my side Looked up with impertinently exquisite faces floating hands were laid upon me I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing up Up with the pale important stars and the Humorous moon dear girl How i was crazy how i cried when i heard over time and tide and death leaping Sweetly your voice
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph and death i think is no parenthesis
who are you, litle i (five or six years old) peering from some high window; at the gold of november sunset (and feeling: that if day has to become night this is a beautiful way)
maggie and millie and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and millie befriended a stranded star who's rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea.
o by the by has anybody seen little you-i who stood on the green hill and threw his wish at blue with a swoop and a dart out flew his wish (it dived like a fish but it climbed like a dream) throbbing like a heart singing like a flame blue took it my far beyond far and high beyond high bluer took it your but bluest took it our away beyond where what a wonderful thing is the end of a string (murmurs little you-i as the hill becomes nil) and will somebody tell me why people let go
Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)arranging a window,into which people look(while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here)and changing everything carefully spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things,while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there)and without breaking anything.
yes is a pleasant country: if's wintry (my lovely) let's open the year both is the very weather (not either) my treasure, when violets appear love is a deeper season than reason; my sweet one (and april's where we're)
silently if,out of not knowable night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess (only which is this world)more my life does not leap than with the mystery your smile sings or if(spiralling as luminous they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams, less into heaven certainly earth swims than each my deeper death becomes your kiss losing through you what seemed myself,i find selves unimaginably mine;beyond sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears yours is the light by which my spirit's born: yours is the darkness of my soul's return -you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars
the wind is a Lady with bright slender eyes(who moves)at sunset and who--touches--the hills without any reason (i have spoken with this indubitable and green person "Are You the Wind?" "Yes" "why do you touch flowers as if they were unalive,as if They were ideas?" "because,sir things which in my mind blossom will stumble beneath a clumsiest disguise,appear capable of fragility and indecision --do not suppose these without any reason and otherwise roses and mountains different from the i am who wanders imminently across the renewed world" to me said the)wind being A lady in a green dress,who;touches:the fields (at sunset)
my sweet old etcetera aunt lucy during the recent war could and what is more did tell you just what everybody was fighting for, my sister isabel created hundreds (and hundreds)of socks not to mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers etcetera wristers etcetera, my mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could meanwhile my self etcetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of Your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
when life is quite through with and leaves say alas, much is to do for the swallow,that closes a flight in the blue; when love's had his tears out, perhaps shall pass a million years (while a bee dozes on the poppies,the dears; when all's done and said,and under the grass lies her head by oaks and roses deliberated.)
in time of daffodils(who know the goal of living is to grow) forgetting why,remembering how in time of lilacs who proclaim the aim of waking is to dream, remember so(forgetting seem) in time of roses(who amaze our now and here with praise) forgetting if,remember yes in time of all sweet things beyond whatever mind may comprehend, remember seek(forgetting find) and in a mystery to be (when time from time shall set us free) forgetting me,remember me
Now i lay(with everywhere around) me(the great dim deep sound of rain;and of always and of nowhere)and what a gently welcoming darkness-- now i lay me down(in a most steep more than music)feeling that sunlight is (life and day are)only loaned;whereas night is given(night and death and the rain are given;and given is how beautifully snow) now i lay me down to dream of(nothing i or any somebody or you can begin to begin to imagine) something which nobody may keep, now i lay me down to dream of Spring
why do the fingers of the lit tle once beau tiful la dy(sitting sew ing at an o pen window this fine morning)fly instead of dancing are they possibly afraid that life is running away from them(i wonder)or isnt't she a ware that life(who never grows old) is always beau tiful and that nobod y beauti ful ev er hur ries
In Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee and eddieandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old balloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisbel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed balloonMan whistles far and wee
this little bride & groom are standing)in a kind of crown he dressed in black candy she veiled with candy white carrying a bouquet of pretend flowers this candy crown with this candy little bride & little groom in it kind of stands on a thin ring which stands on a much less thin very much more big & kinder of ring & which kinder of stands on a much more than very much biggest & thickest & kindest of ring & all one two three rings are cake & everything is protected by cellophane against anything(because nothing really exists
somewhere i never travelled,gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail getures are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petel by petel myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if you wish to be close me,i an my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to preceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only somethingin me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
but if a living dance upon dead minds why, it is love; but at the earliest spear of sun perfectly should disappear moon's utmost magic, or stones speak or one name control more incredible splendor than our merely universe, love's also there: and being here imprisoned, tortured here love everywhere exploding maims and blinds (but surely does not forget, perish, sleep cannot be photographed, measured; disdains the trivial labelling of punctual brains... - Who wields a poem huger than the grave? from only Whom shall time no refuge keep though all the weird worlds must be opened? ) Love
here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap and to your(in my arms flowering so new) self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to a disappearing poet of always,snow and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid down with ought with because with every brain which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness) here's to one undiscoverable guess of whose mad skill each world of blood is made (whose fatal songs are moving in the moon
luminous tendril of celestial wish (whying diminutive bright deathlessness to these my not themselves believing eyes adventuring,enormous nowhere from) quering affirmation;virginal immedicay of precision:more and perfectly more most ethereal silence through twilight's mystery made flesh- dreamslender exquisite white firstful flame -new mon!as(by the miracle of your sweet innocence refuted)clumsy some dull cowardice called a world vanishes, teach disappearing also me the keen illimitable secret of begin
no man,if men are gods;but if gods must be men,the sometimes only man is this (most common,for each anguish is his grief; and,for his joy is more than joy,most rare) a fiend,if fiends speak truth;if angels burn by their own generous compeletely light, an angel;or(as various worlds he'll spurn rather than fail immeasurable fate) coward,clown,traitor,idiot,dreamer,beast- such was a poet and shall be and is -who'll solve the dpeths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's hearbeat in his hand
nothing false and possible is love (who's imagined,therefore is limitless) love's to giving as to keeping's give; as yes is to if,love is to yes must's a schoolroom in the month of may: life's the deathboard where all now turns when (love's a universe beyond obey or command,reality or un-) proudly depths above why's first because (faith's last doubt and humbly heights below) kneeling,we-true lovers-pray that us will ourselves continue to outgrow all whose mosts if you have known and i've only we our least begin to guess
pity this busy monster,manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victum(death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness -electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrage;lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish returns on its unself. A world of made is not a world of born-pity poor flesh and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell of a good universe next door;let's go
voices to voices, lip to lip i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes . . . to exist being a peculiar form of sleep what's beyond logic happens beneath will; nor can these moments be translated: i say that even after April by God there is no excuse for May -bring forth your flowers and machinery: scuplture and prose flowers guess and miss machinery is the more accurate, yes it delivers the goods, Heaven knows (yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake, of ourselves which shout and cling, being for a little while and which easily break ins pite of the best overseeing) i mean that the blond abscence of any program except last and always and first to live makes unimportant what i and you belive; not for philosophy does this rose give a damn. . . bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed splendor of piston and of pistil; very well provided an instant may be fixed so that it will not rub, like any other pastel. (While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneyed son for a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with? each dream nascitur, is not made . . . ) why then to Hell with that: the other; this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flower and not to be afraid.
when faces called flowers float out of the ground and breathing is wishing and wishing is having- but keeping is downward and doubting and never -it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring! yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be (yes the mountains are dancing together) when every leaf opens without any sound and wishing is having and having is giving- but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense -alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring! now the pretty birds hover so she and so he now the little fish quiver so you and so i (now the mountains are dancing, the mountains) when more than was lost has been found has been found and having is giving and giving is living- but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing -it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring! all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea (all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)
when serpents bargain for the right to squirm and the sun strikes to gain a living wage- when thorns regard their roses with alarm and rainbows are insured against old age when every thrush may sing no new moon in if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice -and any wave signs on the dotted line or else an ocean is compelled to close when the oak begs permission of the birch to make an acorn-valleys accuse their mountains of having altitude-and march denounces april as a saboteur then we'll believe in that incredible unanimal mankind(and not until)
nonun blob a cold to skylessness sticking fire my are your are birds our all and one gone away the thry leaf of ghosts some few creep there here or on unearth
neither could say (it comes so slow not since not why) both didn't know exeunt they (not false not true not you not i) it comes so who
it's over a(see just over this)wall the apples are(yes they're gravensteins)all as red as to lose and as round as to find. Each why of a leaf says (loating each how) you're which as to die (each green of a new) you're who as to grow but you're he as to do what must(whispers)be must be(the wise fool) if living's to give so breathing's to steal-- five wishes are five and one hand is a mind then over our thief goes (you go and i) has pulled(for he's we) such fruit from what bough that someone called they made him pay with his now. But over a(see just over this)wall the red and the round (they're gravensteins)fall with a kind of a blind big sound on the ground
squints a blond job at her diamond solitaire while guesswho nibbles his ton of torse squirms a pool of pink fat screams a hole in it that birth was wicked and life is worse squats a big dove on g w's wig so what he is much to busy sitting the horse
my(his from daughter's mother's zero mind fahrenheit)old infrequently more and more much(as aprils elsewhere stroll)exhumed most innocently undecaying friend hangs at yon gilty ceiling per both pale orbs thus excluding a leanderless drowning in sub(at the next)nakedness (table but three)hero's carnivorous(smile by lipstick smell by matchabelli)tits as(while thumb a plus fingers all with blind him of who)i discreetly(masturbates on honestly breadcrumb)say "i understand quite what you mean by" sold!to the dollarful shea with a weakness for living literature "loyaltea"
ygUDuh ydoan yunnuhstan ydoan o yunnuhstan dem yguduh ged yunnuhstan dem doidee yguduh ged riduh ydoan o nudh LISN bud LISN dem gud am lidl yelluh bas tuds weer goin duhSIVILEYEzum
mr u will not be missed who as an anthologist sold the many on the few not excluding mr u
it was a goodly co which paid to make man free (for man is enslaved by a dread dizziz and the sooner it's over the sooner to biz don't ask me what it's pliz) then up rose bishop budge from kew a anglican was who (with a rag and a bone and a hank of hair)'d he picked up a thousand pounds or two and he smote the monster merde then up rose pride and up rose pelf and ghibelline and guelph and ladios and laddios (on radios and raddios) did save man from himself ye duskiest despot's goldenest gal did wring that dragon's tail (for men must loaf and women must lay) and she gave him a desdemonial that took his breath away all history oped her teeming womb said demon for to doom yea(fresh complexions being oke with him)one william shakespeare broke the silence of the tomb then up rose my lipshits pres (who always nothing says) and he kisséd the general menedjerr and they smokéd a robert burns cigerr to the god of things like they err
plato told him:he couldn't believe it(jesus told him;he wouldn't believe it)lao tsze certainly told him,and general (yes mam) sherman; and even (believe it or not)you told him:i told him;we told him (he didn't believe it,no sir)it took a nipponized bit of the old sixth avenue el;in the top of his head:to tell him
("fire stop thief help murder save the world" what world? is it themselves these insects mean? when microscopic shriekings shall have snarled threads of celestial silence huger than eternity,men will be saviors --flop grasshopper,exactly nothing's soon; scream,all ye screamers,till your if is up and vanish under prodigies of un) "have you" the mountain,while his maples wept air to blood,asked "something a little child who's just as small as me can do or be?" god whispered him a snowflake "yes:you may sleep now,my mountain" and this mountain slept while his pines lifted their green and smiled
this evangelist buttons with his big gollywog voice the kingdomofheaven up behind and crazily skating thither and hither in filthy sawdust chucks and rolls against the tent his thick joggling fists he is persuasive the editor cigarstinking hobgoblin swims upward in his swivelchair one fist dangling scandal while five other fingers snitch rapidly through mist a defunct king as linotypes gobblehobble our lightheavy twic twoc ingly attacks landing a onetwo which doubles up suddenly his bunged hinging victim against the giving ropes amid screams of deeply bulging thousands i too omit one kelly in response to howjedooze the candidate's new silk lid bounds gently from his baldness a smile masturbates softly in the vacant lot of his physiognomy his scientifically pressed trousers ejaculate spats a strinkingly succulent getup but we knew a muffhunter and he said to us Kid. daze nutn like it.
one(Floatingly)arrive (silent)one by(alive) from(into disappear and perfectly)nowhere vivid anonymous mythical guests of Is unslowly more who(and here who there who)descend -ing(mercifully)touch deathful earth's any which Weavingly now one by wonder(on twilght)they come until(over dull all nouns)begins a whole verbal adventure to illimitably Grow
as any(men's hells having wrestled with) man drops into his own paradise thankfully whole and the green whereless truth of an eternal now welcomes each was of whom among not numerable ams (leaving a perfectly distinct unhe; a ticking phantom by prodigious tim's mere brain contrived:a spook of stop and go) may i achieve another steepest thing-- how more than sleep illimitably my --being so very born no bird can sing as easily creation up all sky (really unreal world,will you perhaps do the breathing for me while i am away?)
when you are silent,shining host by guest a snowingly enfolding glory is all angry common things to disappear causing through mystery miracle peace: or(if begin the colours of your voice) from some complete existence of to dream into complete some dream of to exist a stranger who is i awakening am. Living no single thing dares partly seem one atomy once,and every cannot stir imagining;while you are motionless-- whose moving is more april than the year (iff all her most first little flowers rise out of tremendous darkness into air)
love is a spring at which crazy they drink who've climbed steeper than hopes are fears only not ever named mountains more if than each known allness disappears lovers are mindless they higher than fears are hopes lovers are those who kneel lovers are these whose lips smash unimagined sky deeper than heaven is hell
what over and which under burst lurch things phantoms curl (mouth seekingslt lips wander a finding whom of girl) dolls clutching their dolls wallow toys playing with toys (than are all unworlds hollow silence has deeper eyes purest than fear's obscener brightest than hate's more black keenest than dying's keener each will kissed breast awake) slow tottering visions bigly come crashing into go (all than were nevers ugly beautiful most is now)
when god decided to invent everything ho took one breath bigger than a circustent and everything began when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because
old mr ly fresh from a fu ruddy as a sun with blue tru two man neral rise eyes "this world's made 'bout right it's the people that abuses it you can git anything you like out of it if you gut a mind to there's something for everybody it's a" old mr lyman ruddy as a sunrise fresh with blue come true from a funeral eyes "big thing"
rain or hail sam done the best he kin till they digged his hole :sam was a man stout as a bridge rugged as a bear slickern a weazel how be you (sun or snow) gone into whaat like all them kings you read about and on him sings a whippoorwill; heart was big as the world aint square with room for the devil and his angels too yes,sir what may be better or what may be worse and what may be clover clover clover (nobody'll know) sam was a man grinned his grin done his chores laid him down. Sleep well
let it go--the smashed word broken open vow or the oath cracked length wise--let it go it was sworn to go let them go--the truthful liars and the false fair friends and the boths and neithers--you must let them go they were born to go let all go--the big small middling tall bigger really the biggest and all things--let all go dear so comes love
Hello is what a mirror says it is a maid who says Who and(hearing not a which)replies in haste I must be you no sunbeam ever lies Bang is the meaning of a gun it is a man means No and(seeing something yes)will grin with pain You so&so; true wars are never won
i've come to ask you if there isn't a new moon outside your window saying if that's all,just if" "that's all there is to say" (and she looked)"especially in winter"(like a leaf opening) as we stood,one(truthed by wisping tinily the silverest alive silentness god ever breathed upon beginning) "beautinful o most beautiful" her,my life worships and (night) then "everything beautiful can grow" my,her life marvels "here'll be a canoe and a whole world and then a single hair again" marvels "and liars kill their kind but" her,my "love creates love only" our
open green those (dear) worlds of than great more eyes,and what were summer's beside their glories downward if they'll or goldenly float so(dreaming out of dreams among)no year will fail this than,a least dare of snow less quite is nothing but herself,and than this(mere most)breast spring's million(who are and do not wait) buds imitate upward each first flower of two
except in you honour, my loveliest, nothing may move may rest --you bring (out of dark the earth)a procession of wonders huger than prove our fears were hopes:the moon open for you and close will shy wings of because; each why of star(afloat on not quite less than all of time) gives you skilful his flame so is your heart alert, of languages there's none but well she knows; and can perfectly speak (snowflake and rainbow mind and soul november and april) who younger than begin are,the worlds move in your (and rest,my love) honour
true lovers in each happening of their hearts live longer than all which and ever who; despite what fear denies,what hope asserts, what falsest both disprove by proving true (all doubts,all certainties,as villians strive and heroes through the mere mind's poor pretend --grim comics of duration:only love immortally occurs beyons the mind) such a forever is love's any now and her each here is such an everywhere, even more true would truest lovers grow if out of midnight dropped more suns than are (yes;and if time should ask into his was all shall,their eyes would never miss a yes)
we love each other very dearly ,more than raindrops need sunbeams or snowflakes make possible mayflowers: quite eyes of air not with twilight's first thrushes may awake more secretly than our(if disappear should some world)selves .No doing shall undo (nor madness not mere death nor both who is la guerre)your me or simplify my you ,darling sweet this creative never known complexity was born before the moon before God wished Himself into a rose and even( we'll adventure the into most immemorial of whens )before each heartbeat which i am alive to kiss
darling!because my blood can sing and dance(and does with each your least you any most very amazing now or here)let pitiless fear play host to every isn't that's under the spring --but if a look should april me, down isn't's own isn't go ghostly they doubting can turn men's see to stare their faith to how their joy to why their stride and breathing to limp and prove --but if a look should april me, some thousand million hundred more bright worlds than merely by doubting have darkly themselves unmade makes love armies(than hat itself and no meanness unsmaller)armies can immensly meet for centuries and(except nothing)nothing's won --but if a look should april me for half a when, whatever is less alive than never begins to yes but if a look should april me (though such as perfect hope can feel only despair completely strikes forests of mind, mountains of soul) quite at the hugest which of his who death is killed dead. Hills jump with brooks: trees tumble out of twigs and sticks;
how tinily of squir(two be tween sto nes)ming a gr eenes t you b ecome s whi (mysterious ly)te one t hou
might these be thrushes climbing through almost(do they beautifully wandering in merciful miracles wonderingly celebrate day and welcome earth's arrival with a soul) sunlight?yes (always we have heard them sing the dark alive but) look:begins to grow more than all real, all imagining; and we who are we?surely not i not you behold nor any breathing creature this? nothing except the impossible shall occur --see!now himself uplifts of stars the star (sing!every joy)--wholly now disappear night's not eternal terrors like a guess. Life's life and strikes my your our blossoming sphere
if(among silent skies bluer than believing)a little gay earth opening is all the flowers of his eyes :april's they this if now or this(young trembling any) into flame twig or limb explodes and o each living ablaze greenly thing ;may has come love(by yes every new bird no bigger than to sing) leaf is wing and tree is voice more leastfully than i am you ,we are spring
these(whom;pretends blue nothing) are built of soon carved of to born of be One :petals him starrily her and around ing swim snowing ly upward with Joy, no where(no)when may breathe so sky so .wish
i think you like" a strawberry bang this blueeyed world(on which are wintry handlebars glued)updives pursued by its wigglesome whisperful body and almost isn't(grabbed into skies of grin)"my flowers"(the humble man than sunlight older with ships than dreams more hands are offering jonquils)down again who but zooms through one perfectly beautiful bow "my home ionian isles
open your heart: i'll give you a treasure of tiniest world a piece of forever with summitless younger than angels are mounains rivery forests towerful towns(queen poet king float sprout heroes of moonstar flutter to and swim blossoms of person)through musical shadows while hunted by daemons seethe luminous leopards(on wingfeet of thingfear) come ships go snowily sailing perfect silence. Absolute ocean
until and i heard a certain a bird i dreamed i could sing but like nothing are the joys of his voice until and who came with a song like a dream of a bird with a song like not anything under skies over grass until and until into flame i can feel how the earth must fly is a truth is a cry of a whole of a soul until i awoke for the beautiful sake of a grave gay brave bright cry of alive with a trill like until
so in't small one littlest why, it into if shall climb all the blue heaven green earth neither sea here's more than room for three of me and only while your sweet eyes close have disappeared a million whys; but opening if are those eyes every because is murdered twice
trees were in(give give)bud when to me you made for by love love said did o no yes earth was in (live live)spring with all beautiful things when to me you gave gave darling birds are in(trees are in) song when to me you leap and i'm born we 're sunlight of oneness
which is the very (in sad this havingest world)most merry most fair most rare the livingest givingest girl on this whirlingest earth? why you're by far the darlingest who(on this busily nowhere rollingest it)'s the dizzily he most him --the climbingly fallingest fool in this trickiest if? why i'm by much the luckiest waht of the wonder (beingest growingest) over all under all hate all fear --all perfectly dyingest my and foreverless thy? why our is love and neverless
she being Brand -new;and you know consequently a little stiff i was careful of her and(having thoroughly oiled the universal joint tested my gas felt of her radiator made sure her springs were O. K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her up,slipped the clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she kicked what the hell)next minute i was back in neutral tried and again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my lev-er Right- oh and her gears being in A 1 shape passed from low through second-in-to-high like greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity avenue i touched the accelerator and give her the juice,good (it was the first ride and believe i we was happy to see how nice she acted right up to the last minute coming back down by the Public Gardens i slammed on the internalexpanding & externalcontracting brakes Bothatonce and brought allofher tremB -ling to a:dead. stand- ;Still)
"sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love" (all the merry little birds are flying in the floating in the very spirits singing in are winging in the blossoming) lovers go and lovers come awandering awondering but any two are perfectly alone there's nobody else alive (such a sky and such a sun i never knew and neither did you and everybody never breathed quite so many kinds of yes) not a tree can count his leaves each herself by opening but shining who by thousands mean only one amazing thing (secretly adoring shyly tiny winging darting floating merry in the blossoming always joyful selves are singing) "sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love"
life is more true than reason will deceive (more secret or than madness did reveal) deeper is life than lose: higher than have --but beauty is more each than living's all multiplied with infinity sans if the mightiest meditation of mankind cancelled are by one merely opening her leaf (beyond whose nearness there is no beyond) or does some littler bird than eyes can learn look up to silence and completely sing? futures are obsolete;pasts are unborn (here less than nothing's more than everything) death,as men call him,ends what they call men --but beauty is more now than dying's when
if everything happens that can't be done (and everythings righter than books could plan) the stupidest teacher will almost guess (with a run skip around we go yes) there's nothing as something as one one hasn't a why or because or although (and buds know better than books don't grow) one's anything old being anything new (with a what which around we come who) one's everyanything so so world is a leaf so tree is a bow (and birds sing sweeter than books tell how) so here is a way so your is a my (with a down up around again fly) forever was never till now now i love you and you love me (and books are shuter than books can be) and deep in the high that does nothing but fall (with a shout each around we come all) there's somebody calling who's we we're anything brighter thaneven the sun (we're everything greater than books might mean) we're everyanything more than believe (with a spin leap alive we're alive) we're wonderful one times one
if i love You (thickness means worlds inhabited by roamingly stern bright faeries if you love me) distance is mind carefully luminous with innumerable gnomes Of complete dream if we love each (shyly) other, what clouds do or Silently Flowers resembles beauty less than our breathing
i love you much(most beautiful darling) more than anyone on the earth and i like you better than everything in the sky -sunlight and singing welcome your coming although winter may be everywhere with such a silence and such a darkness noone can quite begin to guess (except my life)the true time of year- and if what calls itself a world should have the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such sunlight as will leap higher than high through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each nearness)everyone certainly would(my most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love
Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups violets dandelions And the big bullying daisies through the field wonderful with eyes a little sorry Another comes also picking flowers