You say love is this, love is that:
Poplar tassels, willow tendrils
the wind and the rain comb,
tinkle and drip, tinkle and drip--
...
My wife's new pink slippers
have gay pompons.
There is not a spot or a stain
on their satin toes or their sides.
...
The Archer is wake!
The Swan is flying!
Gold against blue
An Arrow is lying.
...
Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky.
Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's
...
The little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
...
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
...
Sorrow is my own yard
where the new grass
flames as it has flamed
often before but not
...
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses,
Thou art my Lady.
I have known the crisp, splintering leaf-tread with thee on before,
White, slender through green saplings;
...
In Breughel's great picture, The Kermess,
the dancers go round, they go round and
around, the squeal and the blare and the
tweedle of bagpipes, a bugle and fiddles
...
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
...