Issue 16, Spring-Summer 1957
Bright sunlight! And the summer is a sword
Goading our sense; the very times conspire
With us to pierce that beauty; such a youth
Might satisfy a goddess in desire
(the living air is hot, the sunlight bold):
Our arrows, feathered things, fly out like birds.
Like swans or doves, or in the vivid day
No birds at all, but like a shower of gold.