The only response
to a child's grave is
to lie down before it and play dead

Mind has been burnt in love,
the branches of shimul* tree covered with flowers;
I sense the advent of spring that had appeared
in the age of ice.

* silk-cotton

Min Musa nys
Gav mig et Digtningens Kys.
Hun Billeder malte;
Ak, jeg veed Intet af Det, hun fortalte.
Sligt kan man glemme! -
Min Tanke var hjemme.

And Millar, Poet of Sierras,
For bold deeds he doth prepare us.

ZAP!
unlaid / 20 days

How bright and brave they look, shouldering five-foot rifles
On the parade ground lit up by the first gleams of day.
China's daughters have high-aspiring minds,
They love their battle array, not silks and satins.

Mildt paa din Pande læser man: Fyrstinden,
Men i dit Øie — Moderhjertet — Qvinden.

A crust of mountain for breakfast
with a smear of dew to wash it down,
a torn cotton robe against the wind.
His name burnt out, Milarepa sings to himself
as he travels the centuries.

Com cinco pães o Cristo
Deu de comer a cinco mil pessoas!
Eu não me assombro disto,
Pois tu, que o meu espírito magoas,
Tens um só coração,
E amas, contudo, uma população!

Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
O'er the misty mountain forest,
And amid the light of morning
Like a cloud of glory hiest,
And when night descends defiest
The embattled tempests’ warning!