Above sunlit tree-gleams,
half-moon riding high,
staring to sunset horizon,
a brightening, bulbous eye.
Look down; keep half an eye
on chasming me below.
The swifts are here; their arched
wings pass between us two.
They'll do to make a summer.
Spiders spin from rain-bead line.
After a leaden day of rain
an evening tincture's fine.
Startling cumulus pinks pass
high white cirrus silk.
For my own human-kindness
I need that milk.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
