TO LOVE
| Love, often your delicate fingers beckon, And always I follow. Oh, if I could stay, and possess your beauty Beckoning always! |
CAR-WINDOW
|
A light is laughing thro' the scattered rain, A color quickens in the meadow; Drops are still, upon the window-pane— They cast a silver shadow. |
LITTLE FISHES
| A myriad curious fishes, Tiny and pink and pale, All swimming north together With rhythmical fin and tail— A mountain surges among them, They dart and startle and float, Mere wiggling minutes of terror, Into that mountain's throat. |