This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent ; . . .
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I have run on middle fingernail through Eolithic morning,
I have thundered down the coach road with the Revolution’s warning.
I have carried countless errant knights who never found the grail. . . .
She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask . . .
Suppose I said the word “springtime”
and I wrote the words “king salmon”
on a piece of paper . . .
As a boy I bicycled the block
w/a brown mop top falling
into a tail bleached blond, . . .
By the stream, where the ground is soft
and gives, under the slightest pressure—even
the fly would leave its footprint here . . .
When love was a question, the message arrived
in the beak of a wire and plaster bird. The coloratura
was hardly to be believed. For flight, . . .
The lords of life, the lords of life,—
I saw them pass,
In their own guise, . . .
Like Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand . . .