The eye is pleased when nature stoops to art.

Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare.

That's the main business of the poem!-to see if you can't make up a language that sets all your selves talking at once-all of them being fair to each other.

Teach me, like you, to drink creation whole/ And casting out myself, become a soul.

Caught Summer is always an imagined time. Time gave it, yes, but time out of any mind. There must be prime In the heart to beget that season, to reach past rain and find Riding the palest days Its perfect blaze.

Odd that a thing is most itself when likened

Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you.