Among the iodoform, in twilight-sleep,
What have I lost? he first inquires,
Peers in the middle distance where a pain,
Ghost of a nurse, hazily moves, and day,
Her blinding presence pressing in his eyes
And now his ears. They are handling him
With rubber hands. He wants to get up.

One day beside some flowers near his nose
He will be thinking, When will I look at it?
And pain, still in the middle distance, will reply
At what? and he will know it's gone,
O where! and begin to tremble and cry.
He will begin to cry as a child cries

Among the greatest plagues, one is the third day ague;
But cross and scolding wives the greatest evil are;
With strong and pray'rful minds the first will cease to plague you,
But for the last I know not what advice to dare;
Except with patience all to suffer,
And ne'er the first assault to proffer.

Among the coffee cups and soup toureens walked Beauty
Casual, but not unconscious of his power
Gathering dishes mucked with clinging macaroni
Unbearable in his spasmatic beauty
Sovereign in Simon's Restaurant and wreathed in power
The monarch of a kingdom yet unruled.

Now regal at a table in the Starlite Club sits Beauty
Casual but not unconscious of his power
Kept by a Mr Blatz who manufactures girdles
Unbearable in his spasmatic beauty
Counting with kingly eye the subjects of his power
Who sleep with beauty and are unappeased.

Tune — Saw ye my Eppie M'Nab [see no. 355]

Amang our young lassies there 's Muirland Meg,
She'll beg or she work, and she'll play or she beg,
At thretteen her maidenhead flew to the gate,
And the door o' her cage stands open yet. —

Her kittle black een they wad thirl you thro',
Her rose-bud lips cry, kiss me now;
The curls and links o' her bonie black hair,
Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair. —

An armfu' o' love is her bosom sae plump,
A span o' delight is her middle sae jimp;
A taper, white leg, and a thumpin thie,

[ First Version ]

Among
the leaves
bright

green
of wrist-thick
tree

and old
stiff broken
branch

ferncool
swaying
loosely strung —

come May
again
white blossom

clusters
hide
to spill

their sweets
almost
unnoticed

down
and quickly
fall

Among
of
green

stiff
old
bright

broken
branch
come

white
sweet
May

again

A MONG his books he sits all day
— To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
— The roses red and white.

I walk among them all alone,
— His silly, stupid wife;
The world seems tasteless, dead and done —
— An empty thing is life.

At night his window casts a square
— Of light upon the lawn;
I sometimes walk and watch it there
— Until the chill of dawn.

I have no brain to understand
— The books he loves to read;
I only have a heart and hand
— He does not seem to need.

Among floating weeds, frogs play with their children

Amo, Amas, I love a lass
As a cedar tall and slender;
Sweet cowslip's grace is her nominative case,
And she's of the feminine gender.

Rorum, Corum, sunt divorum,
Harum, Scarum divo;
Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hat-band
Hic hoc horum genitivo.

Can I decline a Nymph divine?
Her voice as a flute is dulcis.
Her oculus bright, her manus white,
And soft, when I tacto, her pulse is.

Rorum, Corum, sunt divorum,
Harum, Scarum divo;
Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hat-band
Hic hoc horum genitivo.

Amin, you came to Iraq, wanting to see
How grand it was,
And how unique:

Forgive me, but the star has been put out;
After its darkening, the people seek
Only contention.

You must know:
Iraq, though beautiful, has emptinesses
And they invade places where people live —

Old fertilizing rains
Are still the same, but nothing now can thrive
For the rains flow in different directions.

And every Spring is what it was
But now, each time it comes, it complains
Of barrenness, and people are

Captives of ignorance.

Amidst bamboo, gate pulled shut,
living like a monk;
white bean-flowers thinning out
after gusts of rain.
My couch engulfed by steam from tea,
I happen to nod off
and wake to find the book I was reading
still clutched tightly in my hand.