| The smell of the earth is good | The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus |
|---|---|
| It is apparent that there is no death | I know what I know |
Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
22| 1-4 Modernized for The Norton Anthology of English Literature• It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers | You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily |
|---|---|