The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.

It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage.

Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

The mind-is not the heart. I may yet live, as I know others live, To wish in vain to let go with the mind- Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me That I need learn to let go with the heart.