World-mothering air, air wild, Wound with thee, in thee isled, Fold home, fast fold thy child.

I say that we are wound With mercy round and round As if with air.

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist-slack they may be-these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I …

Wild air, world-mothering air, Nestling me everywhere, That each eyelash or hair Girdles; goes home betwixt The fleeciest, frailest-fixed Snowflake; that's fai…

Hot water is my native element. I was in it as a baby, and I have never seemed to get out of it ever since.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all ni…

At Tara today in this fateful hour I place all Heaven with its power, And the sun with its brightness, And the snow with its whiteness, And fire with all the s…