Four songs

Come browse, my goats, Christ's manger hay,
Come, browse, in Christmas peace and love -
Ye that on Summer's green hills stray,
Or by her rain-flushed river rove!
"We fear to browse": my brown goats say,
"A white dog snarls Christ's bed above -
White dog with four flesh-meals a day -
He likes it not that goats he drove
Should munch God's meal.
He will not move."

Tide be runnin' the great world over:
  'Twas only last June month I mind that we
Was thinkin' the toss and the call in the breast of the lover
  So ever-lastin' as the sea.

Here's the same little fishes that sputter and swim,
  Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand;
An' him no more to me nor me to him
  Than the wind goin' over my hand.

— Vocalise —

A swell within her billowed skirts
Like a great ship with sails unfurled
The madwoman goes gallantly
Upon the ridges of the world.

With eagle nose and wisps of grey
She strides upon the westward hills,
Swings her umbrella joyously
And waves it to the waving mills.

Talking and laughing as she goes
Indifferent to sun and rain,
With all that merry company
The singing children of her brain.