Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearl'd; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in Hi…

Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds?

This planet is haunted by us; the other occupants just evade boredom by filling our skies and seas with monsters.

The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

Disparting towers Trembling all precipitate down dash'd, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon.