What I Do Is Me, For That

Because The Holy Ghost Over The Bent World Broods With Warm Breast And With Ah! Bright Wings.

Searching Nature I Taste Self But At One Tankard, That Of My Own Being.

Summer Ends Now; Now, Barbarous In Beauty, The Stooks Arise Around; Up Above, What Wind-walks! What Lovely Behavior Of Silk-sack Clouds! Has Wilder, Willful-waiver Meal-drift Molded Ever And Melted Across Skies?

Horrible To Say, In A Manner I Am A Communist.

Crystal Sincerity Hath Found No Shelter But In A Fool's Cap.