The silly fish deceived him
As he approached the creel:
He thought the whole thing real

Hope? Despair? the head and tail of the same old
   Counterfeit quarter.

Ruins are what we make of them, and wrecked 
Imaginations could want to do so little 
With any real rubble. Acres of crumbled bricks,

Once, but once, did I fail my Muse, who, lying
(Golden-shadowed shape) by the flaring candle,
Urged me upward. But there was more to dying

“Mère d’amour et fille de la Mer!”
Over the golden ocean waves of hair
Plunge, bright with her origin, where we

I once saw weeping in a wood
The bears that break the heart of God
When dusty grapes hung from the trees

Daughter of thunder, she of lightning, she
   Of rain, met on the heath, with what
Remained for him to find out and for them

Snow fell all night and suddenly there was morning:
a startling vision from a familiar window,
   while yet an ordinary sight: a

We were unencumbered then by the likes
Of hope—a childish thing yet put away

I hear a river thro’ the valley wander
Whose water runs, the song alone remaining.
A rainbow stands and summer passes under,