Behind her big fan,
With its storks and pagoda,
What a nook for a man!
Behind her big fan
My enchantment began,
Till my whole heart I showed her
Behind her big fan,
With its storks and pagoda.

unmind
of small
potatoes,
obstacle
course,
the proliferation
mindless,
the writing

In the bloom of June arrayed
When the grass is fit to mow
Barley spindling in the blade
And the turnips on the grow
Beside the meadow bank
I lay gazing at the sky
The cows stared round & drank
When a maiden passed me by
In hat of straw & ribbons gay
Her face like roses all the way

The thistle flowers with prickles burred
The blue caps in the corn so blue
Hot headaches like a fire new stirred
Nigh burnt the lookers through
So burnt her cheek aneath the sun
Her dark brown hair was hung in curls
She stood where meadow waters run

And it's never mind, never mind, baby
I've got my doggone eyes on you
And it's never mind, never mind, baby
got my eyes on you
And some old day, pretty baby
do like I want you to do

When I was sick and down
you drove me from your door
I was sick and down, baby
drove me from your door
Now you know how I was a poor man
sleeping out in the ice and snow

Yes, baby
I'm gonna see you when you, baby,
do something I swear is wrong
See you, baby,
when you do something I swear is wrong
When you mistreat me, baby,

The solid world of sense dissolves away;
The forest swoons; the mountains swing and sway;
The sea becomes a blue amorphous mist,
Like vapours of a melted amethyst;
The whole round globe is as a bubble blown;
Nothing seems real save your soul alone.
For through your lucent eyes our dazzled sight
Espies the glimmer of immortal light;
And through your eyelid lilies sees enshrined
The deathless lilies of Eternal Mind,
And all things seem unreal and untrue
Beside the bright apocalypse of you.

The Clover's simple Fame
Remembered of the Cow—
Is better than enameled Realms
Of notability.
Renown perceives itself
And that degrades the Flower—
The Daisy that has looked behind
Has compromised its power—

Go , little boy,
Fill thee with joy;
For Time gives thee
Unlicensed hours,
To run in fields,
And roll in flowers.

A little boy
Can life enjoy;
If but to see
The horses pass,
When shut indoors
Behind the glass.

Go, little boy,
Fill thee with joy;
Fear not, like man,
The kick of wrath,
That you do lie
In some one's path.

Time is to thee
Eternity,
As to a bird
Or butterfly;
And in that faith
True joy doth lie.

In each man's heart that doth begin
To love, there's ever fram'd within
A little world, for so I found,
When first my passion reason drown'd.

Instead of earth unto this frame,
I had a faith was still the same;
For to be right it doth behoove
It be as that, fixt and not move;

Yet as the earth may sometime shake
(For winds shut up will cause a quake),
So, often jealousy and fear,
Stol'n into mine, cause tremblings there.

My Flora was my sun, for as
One sun, so but one Flora was:
All other faces borrowed hence

Convention shut him close inside
A narrow, four-walled cell;
Civilization held the key,
And he was guarded well.

He never tried to break lock-step,
He kept a steady pace;
No signs of wrath or mutiny
Were ever on his face.

He set a good example, too,
Before imprisoned men,
And so one day the pardoning board
Said, “Let him out again.”

And now he is as free as clouds
That drift above my head;
No regulations bind his soul—
But men say, “He is dead!”

Waiting , waiting. 'Tis so far
To the day that is to come:
One by one the days that are
All to tell their countless sum;
Each to dawn and each to die—
What so far as by and by?

Waiting, waiting. 'Tis not ours,
This to-day that flies so fast:
Let them go, the shadowy hours
Floating, floated, into Past.
Our day wears to-morrow's sky,—
What so near as by and by?