I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

Visions of cornea-sin etched into our husk.
Concoction: of-the-brain bouts of ephemeral greed—
Interlinking visions of violent dissent,
Once more printed 'pon cornea-husk—
These be the ******* Imprints!
The rancid souls of subterranean devils,
Gaping, flat-footed, throughout the course of Time.
The memorandum of a navigation substance
Used during rituals for the ascension of the dead;
An imprintation upon the blank entrance-void—
An interlocking location of ******-dread.

Burnished green,
Coloured crimson—
Reminiscent of the city of Dis.

Rising from churning seas of the onyx chagrin!
Carrying clandestine echoes of a civilisation within!
Dismantled— reassembled—
Delivering concrete messages to a futuristic kin—

“This is obscene, Esmerelda!”

Gaunt of the clergy,
Of the orchid,
Of a worship violation,
Conjuring apparitions of violent steam!
The blue and the teal, they kneel, unseen,
Receiving concrete messages from a cardinal, unseen.

Sun bearing down upon the straining, emerald trees!—
Many eyes and many limbs reach skywards,
Towards temple steams.

Though the form is abstract in nature,
And the lines are intrinsically Art,
The eye reverberates— gyrations!—
Revelations of that which cannot be seen:
That which is wrought by design.

Streams of dreams of consciousness,
Of streams of green of consciousness,
Of green of streams of consciousness dreams,
Of dreams of walls of consciousness,
Of streams of green, of green,
Of green of streams of green consciousness,
Of streams of green consciousness of green, of green, of streams,
Of dreams of green consciousness steam,
From streams of green consciousness streams,
Of teams of green consciousness.

The shadows of the ships
Rock on the crest
In the low blue lustre
Of the tardy and the soft inrolling tide.

A long brown bar at the dip of the sky
Puts an arm of sand in the span of salt.

The lucid and endless wrinkles
Draw in, lapse and withdraw.
Wavelets crumble and white spent bubbles
Wash on the floor of the beach.

          Rocking on the crest
          In the low blue lustre
          Are the shadows of the ships.

The Sun does arise,
And make happy the skies.
The merry bells ring,
To welcome the Spring.
The sky-lark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around,
To the bells cheerful sound.
While our sports shall be seen
On the Echoing Green.

Old John, with white hair
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say,
Such such were the joys
When we all girls & boys.
In our youth time were seen,
On the Echoing Green.

Till the little ones weary
No more can be merry
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end:
Round the laps of their mothers.
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest.
Are ready for rest;
And sport no more seen,
On the darkening Green.