Leaving the roof whereon they sat As 'twas before, a peaceful flat Expanse, as silent and serene As though no life had ever been. TREETOPS There beyond my window ledge, Heaped against the sky a hedge Of huge and wavering treetops stands With multitudes of fluttering hands. Wave they, beat they to and fro, Never stillness may they know, Plunged by the wind and hurled and torn Anguished, purposeless, forlorn. "O ferocious, O despairing, In huddled isolation faring Through a scattered universe, Lost coins from the Almighty's purse!" "No, below you do not see The firm foundations of the tree; Anchored to a rock beneath We laugh in the hammering tempest's teeth." "Boughs like men but burgeons are On an adamantine star; Men are myriad blossoms on A staunch and cosmic skeleton." IN THE PARK This dense hard ground I tread These iron bars that ripple past, Will they unshaken stand when I am dead And my deep thoughts outlast? Is it my spirit slips, Falls, like this leaf I kick aside; This firmness that I feel about my lips, Is it but empty pride? Mute knowledge conquers me; I contemplate them as they are, Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee, Less hard, more transient far Than those unbodied hues The sunset flings on the calm river; And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes And my hands with empire quiver. Now light the ground I tread, I walk not now but rather float; Clear but unreal is the scene outspread, Pitiful, thin, remote. Poor vapour is the grass, So frail the trees and railings seem, That, did I sweep my hand around, 'twould pass Through them, as in a dream. Godlike I fear no changes; Shatter the world with thunders loud, Still would I ray-like flit about the ranges Of dark and ruddy cloud. SONG There is a wood where the fairies dance All night long in a ring of mushrooms daintily, By each tree bole sits a squirrel or a mole, And the moon through the branches darts. Light on the grass their slim limbs glance, Their shadows in the moonlight swing in quiet unison, And the moon discovers that they all have lovers, But they never break their hearts. They never grieve at all for sands that run, They never know regret for a deed that's done, And they never think of going to a shed with a gun At the rising of the sun. TOWN Mostly in a dull rotation We bear our loads and eat and drink and sleep, Feeling no tears, knowing no meditation-- Too tired to think, too clogged with earth to weep.