Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat; Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best; Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I dance with the dancers.

Now I see that there is no such thing as love unreturn'd. The pay is certain, one way or another.

Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find."

The moon gives you light, and the bugles and the drums give you music, and my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, my heart gives you love.

Me imperturbe, standing at ease in nature.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.