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.

The way a crow Shook down on me. The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood. And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these. She a window flower. And he a winter breeze.

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.

The tree the tempest with a crash of woodThrows down in front of us is not to barOur passage to our journey's end for good,But just to ask us who we think we are.