O sweet spontaneous earth how often has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty thou answereth them only with spring.

Nobody loses all the time.

yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds

Whatever's merely willful, and not miraculous (be never it so skilful) must wither fail and cease - but better than to grow beauty knows no.

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

...and down they forgot as up they grew.

All in green went my love riding