unless the Presence reflects the world’s delight, glad to surprise, to take revenge on winter in Sin’s disguise prepared with monster green and beauty to surprise Me, the crocus, when I choose to rise, and me, the lark, joined in every note by any word, describe a skyfull of neglected sheep and of that slimy, frogful pond. The season’s sound and fury will not wait to slap the perfect sting on Planet Earth.