I spit into the face of time that has transfigured me

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.

One should not lose one's temper unless one is certain of getting more and more angry to the end.

A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.

All the wild-witches, those most notable ladies For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone.

I gave what other women gave That stepped out of their clothes But when this soul, its body off Naked to naked goes, He it has found shall find therein What none other knows.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.