1. Great gusts of air-stream
Roughly unravel my sleeve
A last butterfly
2. My young love, Buddha,
Came to softly sleeping me
And our sap rising
3. Issa and Buddha
Were lovers; – Lawd how they did
Swoon under a pine
4. It yaws and weaves and
Tacks now in the yellow air
My last butterfly
5. ” Who has ever seen
A poem lovely as this ?
-Our Spring pine-Buddha?
6. Soon it´ll be Easter ?
The speckled bean and pine
Burst, pulse and become
7. How tall young, new pines !
His Next Coming will be thus:
Thrusting. Up. Higher.
8 Does our Buddha pine ?
For Spring´s budding pine-trees´cones ?
Come Her / His Kingdom !
9. Fair daffodils ! He
Weeps not to see fine-hued ye!
Churn-butter yellow!