Your dark brown hair

And light-brown eyebrows,

Your firm, round cheeks

And rounded, fearless nose;

Your lips, sweet, soft, ready to speak your mind,

Your rounded chin, not weak, but beautiful,

Nice teeth,

Glasses, brown on top rim, clear below.

Brown eyes, glad to be seeing.

Your whole face and head, good and sweet and strong and glad to be.

You are such a wonder to me.

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So Right

Each where I turn—

Pics of you:

Sun so bright,

Pansies blue.

Treetops wave,

Grass waves, too.

Bees and birds

Wave pics of you.

Sun with might,

Pansies true;

Just so right—

They are you.

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Ego Love

Ego sense, ego sight,

Ego mind of ego light;

Ego going, going right

In life’s ego-loving might—

Which is one, sovereign one,

Individually done.

Ego touch, ego kiss,

Ego body-seeking bliss.

Ego sight, ego mind,

Ego loving, where to find?

Where is pure, where is whole,

In the independent soul.

Ego sense, ego sight,

Ego thinking, ego light.

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O Glad Ego

A glad ego is a grand thing—

A glad man on his own wing,

A glad woman, free to be,

A gladness deep in you and me.

A glad ego—true and strong;

A thorough gladness–on and on!

An ego high, to fly in song,

An ego-light—self is dawn!

A glad ego is a good thing;

A good ego, a mighty thing;

A mighty ego does its thing

Step by independent step.

O Ego holy, we adore;

O Ego earthly, you are for;

O Ego soaring, you are we,

Joying independently!

A glad ego is a grand thing.

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Then, Again

True, I can see your beauty when you don’t.

I am not prejudiced as you are, dear.

You think yourself so plain, but I, I won’t,

Nor could I! Falsefully I’ll not appear!

Yes, yes, I know you’re not from Hollywood.

Thank God! You’re innocent and very, very good.

This goodness—you, that are—makes all you are

Shine so keenly bright, a real star,

And if I be that ship alone that sees

You winking at me through the dark night’s breeze,

If I alone wave flags to you from here on earth,

If only I steer certain toward your self-raised worth,

Then let the world know I’m wise beyond all ken,

Who over-sings your praises, over, and again!

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Too Too Soft

Your too-soft lips are too too soft, I swear.

How can it be that I still be from kissing there?

That first sweet touch was—-air, then, liquid sun,

And yet a cooling warmth, or warming cool

Swept up through me, or down, and in sweet pool

Of bliss I did not faint, but almost did.

Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow, keep them hid;

Let me not even see, or I may die!

Oh, tomorrow tomorrow, come you fast!

For I would still be kissing while I last!

O torture delicious! O temptress divine!

My star-eyed lover whose days are all mine!

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New Moon

The moon, so slow, so slow she swims

Across, across the pool, above.

No frothy kicks, no splash of limbs,

No motion made of passioned love.

The stars are still; they watch in awe

As slowly, slowly, on she goes.

They’re perfect in obeying laws;

She’s not enslaved to stately rows.

Then where, O Moon, doth romance bide?

“In souls where dreams are not denied,

In minds where failings are defied,

In wills of matching, ‘raise you’ pride!”

Faint frothy kicks, faint splash of limbs,

The new moon slowly, slowly, swims.

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