Contents: The apple trees A young sycamore They're too well known So some lovesick boy The sonnetteers Where I loved you before One gets the look The crowd The Conversation of Graves The world is ours Tailpiece
Small yet perfectly formed
The apple-trees are in flower. Their blushed tips part and widen into brightness by the hour, whose fall is near as sudden.
Awhite-pink, a red thats white, that tumble into daylight, opals out of deeping mines, become one more of your signs;
you who now are the pattern of all such things as are right, and came so soon by this power to be known by earths designs
that from Mays hail I took fright lest you were torn by the stones.
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