Yarın, korkulması gereken bir şey olmak yerine, kendime verdiğim bir söz olabilirdi. Daha cesur ya da daha nazik olmak, yanlışları düzeltmek için bir şans olabilirdi.
Water, is taught by thirst.
Land — by the Oceans passed.
Transport — by throe —
Peace — by its battles told —
Love, by Memorial Mold —
Birds, by the Snow.
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years —
Bitter contested farthings —
And Coffers heaped with Tears!
The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially —
The Brooks laugh louder when I come —
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?