







Thou strainest through the mountain fern,
A most exiguously thin
Burn.
For all thy foam, for all thy din,
Thee shall the pallid lake inurn,
With well-a-day for Mr. Swin-
Burne!
Take then this quarto in thy fin
And, O thou stoker huge and stern,
The whole affair, outside and in,
Burn!
But save the true poetic kin,
The works of Mr. Robert Burn'
And William Wordsworth upon Tin-
Tern!

Spring rain for days:
grass is green & thick;
the mud, soft & thin.

bright-fringed clouds
with blackened bellies drift:
summer day sundown.

shifting shadow
on sandy bottom betrays
illusory depth.

Autumn moon first glimpse
is impossibly huge;
the next, it shrank!