Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead
XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.
we're anything brighter than even the sun
You and I are more than you and I because it's we.