How I loved one like you when I was little!— With his stripes of silver and his small house of his back, Making a slow journey around the well-curb. I longed to be like him, and was, In my way, close cousin To the dirt, my knees scrubbing The gravel, my nose wetter than his. When I slip, just slightly, in the dark, I know it isn’t a wet leaf, But you, loose toe from the old life, The cold slime come into being, A fat, five-inch...
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Glory be to God for dappled things — For skies of couple-color as a brindled cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscapes plotted and pieced-fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He...
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