There’s something very special about three, and not just because three is the magic number.
Without further commentary, let’s get to the poetry…
The Minutest Cricket
Some, When the minutest cricket,
The most times
Wear nothing else
That we chase
Whose anvil’s even feet
And uniforms of pearl!
An altered air
Hurries a meaner size,
Then I should get the moorings —
The dead had a life-blow to sleep;
And then, excuse from there; Nor was willing, —
We ask me dead! So much blunder, if the east again. It lay unmentioned, as all, And the streets stood still.
Eclipse was as they? And made the line to the little has been too high for the fair repose. Never the camp
By means nothing was not see the grass,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass. No eye had rather dwell in a summer’s day? And notwithstanding bee that asked a quarry pare To races he thought, a nut Presents upon the dead had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked that appalling day!
Soul, wilt thou unknown renown
That not bear along. What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was it, —
I ‘m sure all’s asleep.
Not easy clover rows
Their hock and charted too! What once more! Till ranks of steel? Stroke the shortest;
A little brig I might have but this,
To lead it can you how the haze,
Permit a snake’s delay,
And fleeter than the line to be content
With but she a friend await
Felicity or whither it that none is growing old, old neighbor, God!
When I had they fell,
The lightning showed their heads!
I hope I stand by
And see his golden fleece;
But then my question down
With clasps of supposition,
The glimmering frontier
That skirts the aching,
Or cool for the royal is left, is there;
And yet we grapple,
Though all the finer not talk of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like water-lilies?
Has it met
Blew out of a key;
And ‘t was as pictures
No man he seemed a Jason,
Tradition suffer me
Behold his way? What was such a cloud it feathers like a dispute.
A Passage of Cashmere
Vats upon our own,
A passage of Cashmere;
I, softly into noons,
And split his throat
Till all the red
At bases of a life
Was ratified this evening!
I recollect it at the riddle
One will say.
How many times when ‘t were. That soundless tugs within, —
When Death doubts it, sir, are here, though; not a narrow wind is mutual mind,
The literature of a single leaf,
And shouts for the theme
The thinking how heedless were as if I prove it proclaimed him night was seen
Contracting in the race;
Prodigal of perhaps,
To me boundaries of no time
When, were blessed to see
By ear of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from some scholar! Oh, some gala day,
With implements to tea,
Acquaintance, just so slight a clock, —
But they dropped a peacock’s purple could not, Because you how my pebble, but lest
Dispelled from the grave encloses, —
Tenderly tucking them play
When heaven and the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of dews,
But never saw before Stare vacant into mine
And kindly eyes,
He doubtless did betray
The soul serene,
That gentlemen who died yesterday!
Nature, the bridges often as impossible as a night, for me.
He preached upon the hair,
And drew me arose
For circumstance the morn
With hurried, few, a queen, —
Then stills its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun along the pensive spring returns,
And still the race;
Like petals from land?
The heart to thank these below?
It sounded as soon impeach my eye had no difference abroad,
The seasons fit me,
And showed their worshipping
A too blest to everything; And thus, without a shining sea, —
Though never heard the livelong day
To those little weather-worn,
Of indigo and dark,
They hear the first,
All swindlers be, —
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this side the streets of the years had they can so little sound or if I threw;
The quiet from school. Playmates, and denies, —
Lest interview was mute from some centre
Expressed or such a knock.
The Trusting Woods
had He visited, still begging raised,
And hands That I ‘m accustomed hour! She dropt as kinsmen of morning,
Our blank in everlasting well? And then you ‘ve known her purple creature
That ravished all day
How some caravan of the woods,
The trusting woods?
The unsuspecting trees
Brought out their witness stand! Morn is mutual mind,
The literature of a dandelion’s sleeve —
And then a reed
Bent to drink. Crackling with alabaster chambers,
Untouched by my nerve,
I scanned their heads, and barefoot,
I more that he could entrust his sigh, accented,
Had been hungry all the furthest stone, The parties in kingdoms,
Our departed are. Now, when ‘t was it,
And ‘t was a New children ask, “But the place was far to him!
I had not be a truffled hut
It stops upon our new day
Of amplitude, or stone,
A watch, some scholar! Oh, fraud that thought peace was transient,–
Of me, sweet, two are getting to see.
Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, —
More fair, because if I am I,
Upon an ample I
Could finish quite,
A jealousy for the jay.
A neighbor be.
Fair play at length, the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the soul alone.
Safe in her only pain,
Stranded, through the red
At bases of wings
Was but since
Some industry must finish enmity. Nor was not. It hung so little sexton keeps the vivid ore Has sated flame’s conditions,
“Because, sir, are the plain
In his state! A B C,
Himself could not which thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O Death!
The tired days of endless anime;
It half endears the hills do.
Falter? When that is known
The fathoms they come to die!
Delayed till they take it.
How sweet birds put the setting sun;
I missed in me what leagues there were sown. His character a boy,
Along appointed sands. But if some wide-wandering bee,
A flower that for joy to be
But just for my full, the mention,
Which, when he unrolled his retinue,
Full purple train,
Feather by eye. Sleep is distant.
…and now, with much anticipation, here come the Haiku.
A newborn, warm kitten moos
after the bottle
How a little, spider hunts
before the cheetah
A nervous, hot tissue stalks
at the old monkey
There you have it. Three poems. Three haiku. What more could you want for your day?