Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Merely a mockery of spring
Wheezing ravens, when
Given by nature will soak into it.
More beautiful than anything in this world.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
In a single floral stroke,
Bronze the sky, with no
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
And so I gaze avidly
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Merely a mockery of spring
Wheezing ravens, when
Given by nature will soak into it.
More beautiful than anything in this world.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
In a single floral stroke,
Bronze the sky, with no
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
And so I gaze avidly
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
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