Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

We ask only to be reassured About the noises in the cellar And the window that should not have been open

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river is a strong brown god-sullen, untamed and intractable, Patient to some degree, at first recognized as a frontier; Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce; Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges. The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten By the dwellers in cities-ever, however, implacable. Keeping his seasons, and rages, destroyer, reminder Of what men choose to forget. Unhonored, unpropitiated By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.

There will be time to murder and create.

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates.

Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'/Let us go and make our visit.

Before a cat will condescend to treat you as a trusted friend, some little token of esteem is needed, like a dish of cream.