The one I am huge and daring for. For whom these hours
   orient, tides furiously reform

Here I am among them—guards
and scholars, lovers, even the shy ones,

You bend into me, low
as a fountain’s stump of water,

Near the beginning of his first journey
The great traveller (who was to suffer
Shipwreck, the loss of all his wealth, his slaves

    A man in our office is really a dog. He does not do well, is slow and clumsy though extremely good-natured. 

    She stands over a fish, thinking about certain irrevocable mistakes she has made today. Now the fish has been cooked, and she is alone with it. 

    People did not know what she knew, that she was not really a woman but a man, often a fat man, but more often, probably, an old man.

In spring all the poems that need to be written
Have. You are neither dejected nor relieved. Scrape and
Paint. Scrape and paint a gray house white.

Reader unmov’d and Reader unshaken. Reader unsedc’d
and unterrified, through the long-loud and the sweet-still
I creep toward you. Toward you, I thistle and I climb.

I escaped, spinning off
   to heaven knows what
         location, eluding