Round clouds roll in the arms of the wind,
The round earth rolls in a clasp of blue sky,
And see, where the budding hazels are thinned,
The wild anemones lie
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He seems to write excellent stanzas but I have yet to like thewhole:
Ah, surely! Ah, sure from the golden sun
A quickening, masculine gleam floats in to all
Us creatures, people and flowers undone,
Lying open under his thrall,
As he begets the year in us. What, then, would you shun?
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He seems to write excellent stanzas but I have yet to like thewhole: Ah, surely! Ah, sure from the golden sun A quickening, masculine gleam floats in to all Us creatures, people and flowers undone, Lying open under his thrall, As he begets the year in us. What, then, would you shun?