Lying on the kip in the night I saw my dear hover over my bed, bloodless as the most pale lily head, soft-skinned with naked neck to bite, too waxen for a blush and too flush for white, but perfectly toned without white or red.

And her entire face kissed by my mouth, and all her body watched by mine eyes; the tender hands and eyes of fire, the shaking  limbs hotter than the south, the flowing wings, the lithe thighs, and burning soul of my heart's desire.

Loving in axiom, and eager in Poetry heart to show, that she may reap some comfort of my pain: joy may animate her to read, which may allow her know, understanding may charity win, and charity beauty obtain, I sought right words to draw the darkest sight of woe, surveying devices fine, her thoughts to entertain: often tossing others' wits to check if then it's flow some new and healthy rains would come upon my desert brain. But words sprung stooping forth, needing devices stay, Device, a poet's young, escaped Knowledge's blows, and strangers feet seemed obstacles in my way. Thus great with kin to speak, and defenseless in my throes, gnawing my fugitive pen, chastising myself for spite, Twit, said my inspiration to me, peer into thine soul and write!

As I scraped the Susquehanna
Curved the road away,
The sky sagged down upon the view
The garb of mist and grey.

On through the glass, where rivulets
Sought earth instead of metal
The city-line escaped my eyes
My foot pressed past the pedal.

Another place, another time
Another rainy day
The dewdrops misting earthward
Jeweled the leaves along the way.

My body sweeps the filthy streets
My eyes stretch up on high
They seek the metal corpses with an
Unabsorbing eye.

While miles away, I'm wandering
A faded forest path
And pacing past the places
Where our bodies pressed the grass.