I May Die Of Earthly

And From Then On, I Bathed In The Poem Of The Sea, Star-infused, And Opalescent, Devouring Green Azures

I Have Stretched Ropes From Steeple To Steeple; Garlands From Window To Window; Golden Chains From Star To Star, And I Dance.

The Wolf Howled Under The Leaves And Spit Out The Prettiest Feathers Of His Meal Of Fowl: Like Him I Consume Myself.

There Shall Be Poets! When Woman's Unmeasured Bondage Shall Be Broken, When She Shall Live For And Through Herself, Man--hitherto Detestable--having Let Her Go, She, Too, Will Be Poet! Woman Will Find The Unknown! Will Her Ideational Worlds Be Different From Ours? She Will Come Upon Strange, Unfathomable, Repellent, Delightful Things; We Shall Take Them, We Shall Comprehend Them.

True Life Is Elsewhere