Joy Is For The Simple Or The

Parting Is A Training Streamer,lingering Like Leaves In Autumn.

Here Silence Stands Like Heat. Here Leaves Unnoticed Thicken, Hidden Weeds Flower, Neglected Waters Quicken, Luminously-peopled Air Ascends; And Past The Poppies Bluish Neutral Distance Ends The Land Suddenly Beyond A Beach Of Shapes And Shingle. Here Is Unfenced Existence: Facing The Sun, Untalkative, Out Of Reach.

Give Me A Thrill, Says The Reader, Give Me A Kick; I Don't Care How You Succeed, Or What Subject You Pick.

One Of The Great Criticisms Of Poets Of The Past Is That They Said One Thing And Did Another.

Here No Elsewhere Underwrites My Existence.