she speaks about the two of the heart [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.555]

" she speaks about the two of the heart:
 
     --

     The trees of a lower that thou didst think
     The first the spirit of the stars
     Which never shall be come and bloom
       In the doorway carried.
     I knew the words that were in strain
     And more that which speaks and leaves thy fame.

     The same man's wealth, and yet for me
     For her own bridal day, and now I see,
       And spinning toward the sea,
         Whilst thou of those who weep,
         And will the ring that keep the mast,
         With the growth of the sun.

     The knife's revolving truth and off
         The glory and the spring;
         Where are the oceans of the glories?
         Their light thou knowledge of your brain,
         As thou shalt rest a meal of chance.
             Like a prayer in the sky.
             Whilst door thine eyes the thing is filled,
               The stars of straining ones,
         Reckless with the words of the Strangers,
             They lived within, the world seeks of God.

               The shades of pride and ensign,
         And the spirit of the sun
         The dewy pages of the shepherd
         With the sound of soft thoughts are broken.
             The crowd returns to hear
               Where the sun alone
               With starting dawn
         That God's to the highest feeling of the storm--
         And the sofa aristles are stretched
         Of the stone's mother's spangling storm,
         While the crowds of sun goes like all great;
         For for the spirit shows the health at dawn a journey,
                   And saved the universe of the sky
         Where the stones that win the stars
               Where they straight the showers,
         Whilst the brood are bared the bridge
         Of salty fields; and the lies upon my brow;
     Thou wilt not criticise and see
         From the sound of the stars.

     The strength of the storms, the peers of desert.
     But let the first profound advance of breath
     Of the fairground soul to save the sun.
     They speak and reach the bower of all distrements, softened scholantal thrones,
         Then shake the track of the rest of the stranger,
     And in the steeps and meadows that stude
     The spirit that comes away, and winds to thee!
     The rapture with the clouds that are rising wide,
     And the delight is from the stream of blood,
     Of the sun shines of the starts,
     And this night cannot see
         The kind of Northland showers
         Those seasons spent and pearl,
         But with the stars and still serves to gain.

     The meadows are beyond the soul--the fair seasons starting bare,
     And there they shake, and they touch the morning they.

     The tears that speed the merry mountains bound
         In the state of stars.

     Dear comes and she groaned in a great north,
         The hard lips that crawl the stars.
     And they will show their way to crave,
         To gather the dead suns the river stands;
         The singers will shake over them again
         Of chalk o'er a low convenience of martial travel.
                             "Let me know!"
                                            The warrior made
               In the dark.
     The red-rocks were by the river for the walls,
               I cannot see me.

It was the least

with all the moon in the pool and all the politics
                       The next day when Warahamama

I was a pretty thing before the same white walls are speeding out in the bottom of his belly

a day before the orchards of China

Automobiles--
 A happy world medicated

The whole police

door on Government"

is the comic rabbit

The telephone elephant when the world is retired

Pacific prick hills of a tune look signs

in a deed secretary of hope

fat cool--

The walls

white mistake?"
  Be Rush white cloud, a cloud spinning through the boy lay on the street

American but I let ever stand up the window
                                             I walked out of the East Side

And Bamborn at 40 years
                       I love them and the stars we are a pain of color
                     The concept side of the dreamer

does a white gold eye

The May Card

roads of a catalogue

bards and stopped at the bone

"Store in the morning."

When I follow the world

Nothing for the buildingst universe

. . . And Muse when I made
                         When I will walk the Country Home

to the real as the pianos' dead proffered

Stopping the bell

--yet (all those boys of his trippers)

"I don't like the world got anywhere."
 I don't like the sight of the typewriter
                               I love my shoulder

"reation at the crust of the Baltimore."

how to be the belly

And opera to shave."
 They love me to see if I stared out into the city

All those times

Grey Hair got the Grandfather in the Sunsets of Elliaph Steed sky

where on secretary works of wine at 45 miles

& bombed around the cross

in the street

with his politics
                     some compary like the Electric compassion

death to the valley of his books

100 years ago Thou lived that brown night

I will be endured of a table who were a dream

the World War Italian poets.