Page:The Dial (Volume 68).djvu/34

 SEVEN POEMS

to many things and which die i have been sometimes true to Nothing and which lives

they were fond of the handsome moon      never spoke ill of the pretty stars       and to the serene the complicated

and the obvious they were faithful and which i despise, frankly

admitting i have been true only to the noise of worms in the eligible day under the unaccountable sun)

Distinct Lady swiftly take my fragile certain song that we may watch together

how behind the doomed exact smile of life's placid obscure palpable carnival where to a normal

melody of probable violins dance the square virtues with the oblong sins perfectly gesticulate the accurate

strenuous lips of incorruptible Nothing        under the ample sun, under the insufficient day under the noise of worms