When I Go Away From You The

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.

To-night When The Full-bellied Moon Swallows The Stars. Grant That I Know.

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

Underneath My Stiffened Gown Is The Softness Of A Woman Bathing In A Marble Basin, A Basin In The Midst Of Hedges Grown So Thick, She Cannot See Her Lover Hiding, But She Guesses He Is Near, And The Sliding Of The Water Seems The Stroking Of A Dear Hand Upon Her.

Poets Are Always The Advance Guard Of Literature; The Advance Guard Of Life. It Is For This Reason That Their Recognition Comes So Slowly.